Possible's of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl
by John Macmillian
Summary: Ron and Kim find themselves as characters in the Pirates of the Caribbean universe and must deal with everything that is thrown at them. Pirate style yeah baby! Everything is owned by the Mouse Ear corporation and is not owned by me because if they were there would be more pirate movies and Kim Possible would still be on TV. Please review and tell me what you all think and what not
1. Chapter 1

The Carribean Sea 1735

A young Kim made her way from below deck as the Dauntless countinued her long and seemingly endless journey from the old world to the new. She looked to the sky but coundn't see a single spot of daylight potruding throught the entanglement of sail and ropes. The deck was otherwise abandonned save for the helmsmen at the stern and the patroling watchman known as Mister Gibbs. Sensing that she was otherwise alone Kim proceeded to walk towards the bow of the ship. Once at the bow Kim gazed out at the open sea and left with nothing to do began to sing to herself.

_Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. We pillage plunder, we rifle and loot. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho. We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot. Drink up me 'earties, yo ho._ But her song was cut short when an iron grip hand placed itself upon her shoulder forcing her to face Mister Gibbs.

"Quiet Missy, cursed pirates sail these waters, you don't want to bring down the lot of them down on us do you?" said Mister Gibbs in a hushed tone

Before the young Kimberly could answer a naval officer by the name of Lieutenant Barkin interjected stating "Mister Gibbs that will do."

Looking flustered Gibbs quickly countered with "She was singing about pirates, its bad luck to be singing about pirates with this mar and unfathomable fog, mark my words."

"Consider them marked, on your way." Lieutenant Barkin responded

"Aye Lieutenant, its bad luck to have a woman on board too, even a miniature one" said Mister Gibbs as he walked away before taking a sip from his neck flask.

Kim decided to break the silence by saying "I think it would be rather interesting to meet a pirate."

Lieutenant Barkin held in a hardy laugh and merely smiled at the young Kimberly. "Think again Ms. Possible, vile and dissolute bunch the lot of them, I intend to that any man who sails under a pirate flag or wears a pirate brand gets what he deserves, a short drop and a certain stop."

Kim looked away from Lieutenant Barkin just in time to see Mister Gibbs making a hanging notion with his neckerchief.

Kim opened her mouth as if to ask a follow up question but was interrupted by her father Governor Possible. "Lieutenant I appreciate your fervor but I'm concerned about the effect this subject will have upon my daughter."

"Apologies Governor Possible" Lieutenant Barkin mumbled before turning and walking back towards the helm of the ship.

Kim looked up to her father and said "Actually I find it all fascinating."

"Yes, that's what concerns me" Governor Possible retorted before walking to the other side of the deck.

With once again being left all to herself, Kim continued to look out at the endless waves of the sea until something unusual caught her eye. An umbrella floating up and down with the tide made its way to the side of the ship and Kim couldn't help but wonder "Now where do you suppose that came from?" A floating piece of driftwood soon brought more questions than answers when she saw it; a boy lying on the debris. Kim couldn't contain herself and shouted out pointing "A boy, there's a boy in the water."

Lieutenant Barkin ran over to the side of the ship along with Mister Gibbs and Governor Possible and screamed out "Man overboard!" and turned to Gibbs shouting "man the ropes and fetch a hook."

Gibbs complied and then climbed down the side of the Dauntless to pull the limp boy from the water. Lieutenant Barkin examined the boy and with a sigh of relief said "He's still breathing." Before any more care could be given to the boy everyone soon noticed the smell of smoke and stood up to see what it was.

"Mary mother of God" croaked Mister Gibbs as the whole crew witnessed what lay before them a burning ship and no sign of survivors to be seen anywhere.

"What happened here?" Governor Possible frantically questioned

"It's most likely the powder magazine, merchant vessels weren't heavily armed" Lieutenant Barkin answered

"Well a lot of good it did them, everyone's thinking it I'm just saying it, pirates." Snorted Mister Gibbs

Looking desponded over Mister Gibbs response of the situation Governor Possible stated "There's no proof of that it was probably an accident."

Taking charge of the situation Lieutenant Barkin quickly started giving orders to all able bodied deckhands "Rouse the Captain immediately, heave to and take in sail, launch the boats!"

Desperate to keep his daughter away from anything that may be harmful in any manner Governor Possible leaned down to his daughter's eyelevel and said "Kimberly I want for you to accompany the boy and look after him, he'll be in your charge" before standing up to keep watch over the desperate rescue attempt underway by the Dauntless' sailors.

The young Kim approached the boy lying on the top of the deck and decided to run her fingers through the boy's drenched blond hair. Before she could complete this action she found her arm being grasped by the frightened boy she was tasked with looking after. She saw that he was scarred out of his mind clear as day and assumed that it was best to keep him calm "It's okay, my name is Kimberly Possible" she assured him.

"Ron Stoppable" he stuttered.

"I'm watching over you Ron" whispered Kim

With that having been said Ron drifted off into sleep having just endured surviving the shipwreck of his life. Kim noticed something hanging from his neck and checked to see what it was. She pulled back the corner of his shirt and saw a golden medallion with a skull insignia. "You're a pirate?" she murmured.

"Has he said anything" Lieutenant Barkin asked the young Kimberly

Hiding the medallion behind her back Kim caught her breath and said "His name is Ronald Stoppable, that's all I found out."

Nodding at the new but utterly useless information Barkin turned to his second in command and ordered "Take him below" before returning to observe to the ongoing rescue.

Now sure she could view the medallion without being disturbed Kim made her way to the abandoned stern of the ship and held the piece up to the horizon to get a better look at it. The moment the coin was level with the horizon she noticed something eerie out of the corner of her eye. It was a cursed ship flying the Jolly Rodger. She leaned forward to make sure it wasn't a trick of the mind and sure enough it wasn't. As soon as she realized that the flag bore a skull and crossed swords, nothing everything was dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Ten years later

She opened her sleep filled, olive eyes lighting fast, stirred by a dream, of Ron, and fog, and pirates, the day ten years ago. After a moment, she raced to her bureau drawer, unlocked it, moved its contents aside, pulling off the bottom, revealing a secret panel she'd hidden under a wood board that blended with the rest drawer, and surfaced her treasure of eight years, the pirate medallion, making sure it was still where she'd left it. Upon retrieving it, she smoothed the dust away from its surface, letting it shine like it had so many years ago. She stepped to the mirror, undid the chain, and placed it around her neck, adjusting the golden trinket so it faced forward. She breathed in, looking at the mirror, at herself, and at the medallion, thinking her dream over.

"Kimberly!" her fathers voice boomed from the opposite side of the door, he knocked somberly. Kimberly broke from her trance with the medallion, and rushed across her bedroom, grabbed her robe from its respective hook and began to wrap it around her nightgown. Before, grabbing the medallion and sliding it in-between her breasts, hiding the coin from view.

"Are you alright?" she heard him ask as she fastened the belt around the robe, she glanced at the door. "Are you decent?" She bolted over from the mirror

"Yes, yes!" she called through the door there was a _click_, and her father entered her room, accompanied by two housemaids. Governor Possible's hands were behind his back; his usual smile adorned his face. He wore the same powdered wig as always, but today he had clad a white waistcoat, matching trousers, and his best shirt, the blue one with the dark lace trim along the cuffs of the sleeves. He looked at his daughter and shook his head lightly.

"Still abed at this hour?" he asked, Kimberly nodded her head with a smile, although she really had no idea what time it was. The maids rushed into the room, one began making Kimberly's bed, while the other quickly drew the rose red curtains, allowing a burst of sunlight inside. Kimberly squinted, but her smile lingered on weakly. The maid unlatched the window and opened it, then stepped back behind The Governor, along with her comrade whom had smoothed Kimberly's bedspread out perfectly.

"It's a beautiful day," said he, breathing in the fresh air. From the window, Kimberly could see the shipping bay, and all the brightly colored ships within it. Merchant ships and small sail boats, every kind of ship you could think of, and then some. Shining gems over sapphire pools, gliding on the water like large, brown swans. The window box flowers and roses climbing up from the garden trellis outlined her view perfectly, as though a moving painting in a highly decorated frame. Governor Possible approached his daughter with a graciously large smile, his hands still hidden behind his back.

"I have a gift for you," he said, and opened his arms to reveal a huge, pink and white striped box, just big enough that Kimberly had to widen her berth when he pulled it out. The two maids went to work once more, taking off the top of the box and removing the paper within it, although Kimberly knew she was very well competent and had been able to open her own things without help since she was six, she let them do their job.

Once all the paper was cleared, Kimberly slowly reached inside the box and carted out a lovely, light yellow, creamy colored dress. The bodice was adorned in beautiful lace, cut into a rectangle, stitched in with thin strips of waved lace, running vertical across the sides. The sleeves were puffed out and frilled with the same lace, as was the dress's collar. One of the most fantastic gowns she'd ever seen. Kimberly unfolded the dress and cradled it gently in her arms, then looked up at her father with a smile.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" she exclaimed, looking back down at the luscious clothing.

"Isn't it?" said her father, exuberant that she was pleased. Kimberly hugged the grown, careful as not to wrinkle it. She let the bodice fold over her arms and eyed Governor Possible mysteriously.

"May I inquire as to the occasion?" she asked.

"Does a father need an occasion to dote upon his daughter?" Kimberly, letting her guard slide just a bit, laughed softly before she skipped into her rosewood partition, a dressing screen set around the left wall, in order to put the dress on. Governor Possible turned to the two maids.

"Go on," he gestured for them to follow his young redheaded child. Both maids looked at each other and smiled, for they, themselves thought the dress to be rather fetching as well, it must have cost the Governor a pretty penny to have it made. The two girls walked forward, and followed Kimberly into the partition.

Governor Possible turned to the window, a hand behind his back, and watched the ships. So far out, yet they looked as though he could pluck them out of the water like fallen, autumn leaves. With his free hand, he ran his fingers on the windowsill. He heard Kimberly's squeals of excitement, and bit his lip, a bit of nervousness in his eyes. Guilt overthrew him. He was avoiding something, and could hide it from Kimberly no longer.

"Actually," said he, turning his face in Kimberly's direction, "I, um...I had hoped you might wear it for the ceremony today."

Kimberly looked out from the partition; her body only showing from her shoulders up, she was most likely trying not reveal herself in the nude or even in her undergarments. She green eyes filled with confusion and surprise.

"The ceremony?" she asked. This was even more unlike her father. If not just a gift, why'd he buy her this new dress for some old ceremony? And why'd he hide this bit of information from her at first?

"Captain Barkin's promotion ceremony." James Possible added confidently, but fearfully. That's why. Kimberly's confusion turned to rage.

"I knew it!" was her final word to him before vanishing behind the partition once more, too angry to look at him, and in avoidance of saying something she may regret.

"Commodore Barkin, as he's about to become!" Governor Possible said, walking away from the window, headed for the partition, now that Kimberly was clothed. The maid laced the corset again, Kimberly's waist tightened further, she grunted uncomfortably. Another lace up, it became tighter, almost a feeling of crushing her ribs. James' footsteps on the wooden floor could be heard.

"A fine gentleman, don't you think? He fancies you, you know." The Governor said, standing right outside the partition, but Kimberly didn't answer, just another stifled grunt. When she didn't reply, James turned, almost coming into the room separator.

"Kimberly?" Governor Possible asked, appearing in front of the young redhead. He saw the annoyed look in her eye, whether it be of this news of Barkin, whom she had negative feelings for, or the ever-painful corset, he couldn't tell. "How's it coming?" As the corset continued to be laced, Kimberly let out another sharp breath.

"It's difficult to say," she said. This was about the corset. The elder maid stopped for a second when Kimberly jolted due to the lacing.

"Malady, please try not to move," she said.

"Sorry," Kimberly muttered painfully. Her father looked at her worriedly, not knowing how to help, so he spoke the first thing that popped into his mind.

"I'm told it's the latest fashion in London," he said. Kimberly couldn't stop herself from moving as the lacing was finished up. She did her best to keep the annoyance out of her voice, but the constant jiggling made her sound even angrier.

"Well, women in London must've learned not to breathe." she strained to speak at this point. She held her breast when the final lace was done, breathing sharply. The Governor sighed, but before he could say another word, there was a knock at the door. Since Kimberly was unable to move, as she was getting the dress pulled on at that point, she could not see whom it was, but Governor Possible could. It was the butler, a short-ish man with a powdered wig, looking respectable as usual.

"Milord, you have a visitor," he said. James' smile once again returned.

"Oh good, thank you, Fiske!" he replied. Bates bowed before exiting, James was not long to follow.

In the foyer of the house, stood a young man with chocolate brown eyes and a freckled face, dressed in his finest. He jadedly looked around the room, waiting as patiently as he could, his hands grasping a rectangular case.

He looked like a regular aristocrat himself. His usually messy, blonde hair was tied back tight and smoothed out, glossy and perfect no matter which way he turned. His shoes were shined, his face was clean, he looked rather dashing actually. He'd taken his time to prepare; he was meeting The Governor after all, and on a business trip such as this, one must look acceptable for city officials.

Now to wait.

Unfortunately, Ronald Stoppable didn't have a very good attention span.

Upon looking around, he spotted a sconce hanging from a nearby wall, a very nice one too. Most likely brass or iron or gold. He leaned forward, getting a better look at it. After studying it efficiently, he grabbed it, as to feel the craftsmanship. There was a loud _squeak_, and a piece of the candleholder bent down and broke off in his hand.

He stared down at the snapped metal with an unsure face. A door closed from up stairs and footsteps began approaching him. He heard and almost immediately, began trying to cover up his blunder, placing the broken candleholder into a large vase, hidden amongst a few umbrellas and canes.

As the butler appeared, coming down the stairs, Ron turned to him with a nervous smile; he was no better at hiding things then Kimberly, but luckily, Bates paid him no mind. He nodded politely to the young man before passing him by, Ron nodded back, relieved. Governor Possible came down only seconds later, and smiled when he saw Ron, who quickly turned back to face the stairwell.

"Ah, Mr. Stoppable, good to see you again." The Governor said, reaching the bottom of the stairs, approaching Ron with open arms. Ron half-thought of embracing his would-be father, but when James clapped his hands together, he remembered his manners and that this wasn't just a visit. He pulled forward the case he had brought, presenting it to The Governor.

"Good day, sir," he said politely, unlatching the case and cracking open the lid, revealing a beautiful sword, a slivery, sharp edged blade and a shining gold hilt, which was gaudily carved into a twist, like vines twined together. The end of the handle was a smooth orb shape, which was pretty much all that was visible under an equally decorative scabbard, highly ornamented with gold and jewels. "I have your order," he continued.

The Governor grinned as Ron reached in and pulled out the sword, handing it to the older man. James unsheathed the blade and held it high, examining each detail carefully, making sure it was exactly as he had hoped it'd be.

"Well," he exclaimed, lowering the blade, obviously impressed. Ron beamed ear to ear at this.

"The blade is folded steel," the youth explained as James observed the sword farther. "That's gold filigree laid into the handle, if I may." Ron put out his hand, James stopped and, after a second, placed the blade in the boy's palm, Ron promptly lifted it, steadying the middle of the sword between his forefinger and thumb.

"Perfectly balanced, the tang is nearly the full width of the blade." He tossed the blade into the air, having it twirl gracefully. Ron left his hand open, waiting for it to come back down. But when no such thing happened, he looked up, and saw the sword had become stuck in the ceilings crystal chandelier.

With a nervous laugh to The Governor, Ron ran up to the stairs and pushed the heavy chandelier into a swinging motion, he was a bit stronger then he looked. The sword jostled and fell, and with one quick movement, Ron did a frontward roll back in front of James, opened his hand once more, and, this time, caught the sword by the hilt, smiling. Only then with a victorious twirl of the blade did his belt become cut loose causing his trousers fall, and thus revealing his underwear. James laughed.

"Well done," he said as Ron pulled his pants back on, then bowed slightly.

"Thank you, sir," the boy said, handing Governor Possible the saved weapon. He took it and placed it back in its scabbard. Ron put his hands behind his back again, but not before handing James the sword's case.

"Impressive, very impressive," James continued, putting the shining blade away and setting the case aside. "Ah, now, Commodore Barkin is going to be very pleased with this. Do pass my compliments on to your Master, hmm?"

Ron, who was gathering up his bag from the floor, suddenly looked to James. His Master? He had made the blade; he spent all night putting the finishing touches to it. Despite what people thought, Ron was very handy with tools and an excellent blacksmith, one of the few unexpected talents the boy had.

Ron always wondered what stopped him from saying he was the one who made the sword, because he didn't. He just smiled warmly and, after a moment, said:

"I shall. A craftsman is always pleased to hear his work is appreciated."

The reason? A young woman whom he hadn't seen in some time had entered the room, looking most ravishing.

Kimberly stood at the top of the stairs, now fully dressed. Her light yellow dress looked even lovelier then it did in the box, striking across her every curve and fitting perfectly. Cream white shoes peeked from under the hem of her skirts, and white gloves covered her hands, in which she carried a lacey fan. Her red hair was pulled into a neat bun and hidden under a frilly lemon colored bonnet covered with flowers and lace. Two gold, diamond encrusted earrings hung from her ears, and the long, a necklace made from matching martial twisted around her neck, and the gold chain of her pirate medallion hung below it.

She placed a gloved hand on the rail and looked down at the commotion below. James caught sight of her.

"Oh, Kimberly, you look absolutely stunning." he said proudly. Kimberly smiled at him bitterly, obviously still sour about the reasons for this dress. She slowly descended down the steps, her eyes never leaving her father. She looked very regal. Ron's eyes never strayed from Kimberly, who suddenly felt his stare and, finally, regarded his presence with visible happiness.

"Ron! It's so good to see you," she called from the stairs, nearly to the bottom. She suddenly raced down all the way, then slowed her pace, and stopped in front of the two men, but facing her long-time best friend, who smiled at her, breaking his gawk of surprise. Kimberly smiled back in a way that radiated her beauty further, only making Ron dizzier in amazement. She grasped the fan with both hands and spoke.

"I had a dream about you last night," she said. Ron smiled in surprise.

"About me?" he said, gesturing a hand to his chest. Kimberly nodded, her smile ever lasting. Ron felt as though he could stare at her glistening smile forever, her teeth like shining diamonds under soft rose petal lips. He didn't even have time to process what he'd just thought before Governor Possible pushed into view, standing over Kimberly's shoulder.

"Kimberly, is that entirely proper for you to...?" he began to ask.

"About the day we met," Kimberly added gingerly, her father opened his mouth but closed it again, like a codfish. The redhead turned to Ron with a glisten in her eye, that look he'd seen in on her face for so long, a look of pure joy, she was always like this around him.

"Do you remember?" she asked. Ron grinned ear to ear once again.

"How could I forget, Miss Possible?" he said in the most polite manner, utterly forgetting how much Kimberly disliked being addressed that way, especially by old friends. But she merely shook her head as her smile dulled down a bit.

"Ron, how many times must I ask you to call me Kimberly?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously, more mysteriously then she had with her father. Ron stared blankly into her eyes, and then replied: "At least once more, Miss Possible, as always."

Kimberly sighed exhaustedly at this, opening her fan gently in her hand. Even her closest friend only saw her as a paper doll belonging in the world of parties and finery, or did he? She never got to ask. As her father pushed between the two friends, Kimberly's smile turned to scowl, her sour mood returning.

"There. See? At least the boy has a sense of propriety," said James, placing a hand on her shoulder, he then leaned to the side and grabbed a parasol from the nearby vase. There was a _clank _as he did so, like metal hitting the bottom of the container. He turned and gazed at it strangely, then looked back Kimberly. "Now, we really must be going." he handed her the parasol with a smile, she slowly took it in her empty hand, "There you are!" with that, James stepped away from the two young adults, heading for the door, which the butler opened in reply.

Kimberly looked at Ron, annoyance, and something of playfulness, in her eyes as she opened the parasol above her head. She held it tight and spoke.

"Good day, _Mr. Stoppable_." and trotted after her father, never looking back at him, obviously upset that her morning and reunion had been spoiled.

Ron stood in a daze. As The Possible's exited the door, he grabbed up his bag and followed them, nodded to the butler as he passed, and sped out.

"Come along," called James' voice to his daughter. Ron stood at the stone steps that led to the house as Kimberly and Governor Possible got into the horse-drawn carriage parked outside.

"Goodbye…" he called, raising his hand, but Kimberly wasn't looking in his direction. He sighed. "Kimberly."

The Governor waved back before shutting the door behind him, and with that, the coachman slapped the air with his whip, and the three, beautiful brown horses rushed off, taking the carriage away. Ron lowered his hand sadly as it vanished down the street. Kimberly gazed through her window, looking back at Ron sadly as he walked away from their manor.

A few miles out of Port Royal: water, nothing but open ocean, crystal blue bathed in sunlight and star-and moon-speckled skies as far as the eye can see, and it would go on for weeks and months if you were to sail away from the island, it would be all you would see for that time on end as well.

But today, someone was sailing _for _Port Royal, right toward it, and for whatever reason he had for doing so, his coming was about to change everything for the people of the large Caribbean isle.

He stood atop the mast of his fishing dory, his head rocking slightly with the boat's movement, watching the sunrise with weary, dark eyes; shaded, black rings of kohl rounded them. He was a rather tall, scruffy looking man with long black hair that cascaded over his shoulders, mated and dirty and filled with all sorts of baubles, trinkets, beads, and strings that held several strands in small braids. Atop his head was a blood red bandana and worn tricorne hat which he had owned for quiet some time. Among the facial hair area, he had some to spare. A thick, dusty mustache curved over his lips, and he had something of a beard growing, with a small tuft on his chin, the rest was set in two beaded braids that stuck out off his face.

He wore a pair of well-used boots and brown overcoat that covered his pirate-styled clothes consistently. Several gold and rather expensive rings adorned his fingers.

It was obvious in his mind, the moment he stepped on their ground, he would be a stranger in the eyes of Port Royals inhabitants, and this was a good thing. But he was no stranger to Port Royal or its people… or the waters that surrounded it.

He looked down from the mast. His eyes doubled in size. Without hesitation, he grabbed a piece of rigging and swung down to the deck of the boat, and landed ankle-deep in salt water.

After examining his predicament, he grabbed a nearby bucket and used it to bail some of Port Royals waters out of the small dingy, but it proved no avail. After several more tries, he tossed the bucket aside, but not out of frustration.

The first land reach of Port Royal, a small cove that led into the more primitive areas of the island, not yet conquered by man, passed by rather slowly. Hanging in the arch of the cove were four skeletons, dunned in rotting clothes and strung up by their necks with thick ropes that were tied to the rock. No doubt those were the ropes they had died on. A single sign swung next to the decomposed bodies on a fifth rope, but the man could hardly make out what it said from his position.

He removed his hat and placed it over his chest, paying homage to the poor fellows. As his small ship sailed closer to the cove's entrance, the small sign's readings came into view: Pirates, Ye Be Warned!

He only smirked and continued until the cove passed by completely, then placed his tricorne back on his head.

The Port Royals harbor was bustling. Filled with merchant ships and fishing boats and even some different boats from around the world. Old sea dogs, young strapping sailors, boys running up and down the wharfs in play, this was probably the most consistently busy area in the entire island.

An old looking sailor was practicing his knots on a shoddy piece of rope for the millionth time that day, when something in the water caught his eye, a small bucket floated past, then he looked up and saw something else, and he wasn't the only one. Every seaman in the harbor stopped what they were doing and watched, as a stranger sailed in, standing on his mast. But that was the interesting part, because the mast was the only part of the boat that was _not_ underwater.

Holding the tip of the mast with one hand, the stranger's head was held high as his boat sailed into the harbor, sinking ever deeper as it went.

The sinking boat was nearly completely submerged. The stranger merely stood at the mast as if nothing was wrong, as if his boat wasn't taking on water. Either this man was the dumbest sailor in the Caribbean, or the best nerved one. This was exactly what he wanted them to believe, because he was neither.

The mast was low enough, that by the time he was right at dock, he stepped off casually, leaving what looked like a waterlogged stick and some sails in the harbor.

All eyes still on the stranger, he strode up the dock carelessly, quickly. He walked almost like a drunken sailor, or was he? Who could tell?

The harbormaster, who was a very stuffy character indeed, powdered wig and all, was walking the opposite way of the stranger when he passed him. He'd just come back from splitting up some sort of fight on the other side of the docks and was in no mood for nonsense. With a young boy at his side, a portly, ten year old, dark skinned child, most likely his assistant, he made his way to the dock. When the strange character passed him, sneaking up the dock in speed, quickly the harbormaster realized that he'd never seen the chap before, and that somebody was trying to rat his way out of pay. With that, he wheeled around, calling back to the stranger.

"Hey! Hold up there, you!" he called irritably to the most ratty looking man. The stranger turned on his heel very coolly, looking at the harbormaster in a melancholy way. The harbormaster huffed.

"It's a shilling to tie up your boat at the dock," he said. They both looked back at the stranger's sunken boat, its flag blowing in the wind more mockingly then proudly. They turned back to face the other, the stranger's expression never changed.

"And I shall need to know your name." Continued the harbormaster, the assistant handed his ledger and feather pen, he took them prestigiously, waiting for the other man's reply. The stranger looked around the port, then reached into his pocket and placed something gold and shiny onto the harbormaster's open book. The stuffy man's eyes doubled.

"What d'ye say to three shillings, and we forget the name?" asked the stranger. The harbormaster was silent for a second. The boy looked at the bargaining going on before him, and raised his eyebrows in amusement. After some deep thinking, then harbormaster closed his ledger on the three coins. Business was business, and money was money.

"Welcome to Port Royal, Mr. Smith," and continued his walk down the dock, the young boy followed. The stranger watched as the man strode away, waiting for him to disappear from view. He leaned against the harbor podium, and noticed the harbormaster's money pouch there, he had left it. When the two were well out of sight, the stranger snatched up the money and took off.

The ceremony was situated at FortCharles, which had been built by the seaside to keep watch for pirates. It housed cannons, muskets, and many other manner of defense. Not to mention the sixteen-foot high wall that surrounded it brick for brick. It was beautiful, big, and made for war. A prided point to the people, and a safe haven if there ever was so much as a bullet shot at Port Royal. Today it served a much differing, smaller propose, though.

Many rich colleagues and wealthy friends stood together, quietly chatting every now and again as they watched soldiers of the Royal Marines march out in groups of two, then in the front, groups of three, each carrying a flag, including that of England's. Some carried drums, but most had muskets leaned at their shoulders, looking steadfast and strong.

Amongst the people, women fanning themselves, and men in feathered tricornes, Kimberly sat alone, holding her fan close and moving it up and down faster then most people were. The corset felt as though it was growing tighter as she tried to breathe. She wiggled uncomfortably in her seat. _Curse it, this corset!_ _You can make it, Kimberly, _she thought, _just a little longer._

From the beach and dock below, several large-ish ships could be seen on the waters, one being loading with cargo by nearby workers, the fort was set on the cliff above. The stranger wandered into a nearby brush, watching the ship carefully. He looked around a bit to make sure no one was following him, then headed straight through.

The musket carrying and flag carrying soldiers stood in lines of two in the middle of the courtyard, back to back, each holding the gun upward. The most emotionless look on their face. Their commanding officer shouted orders from the sidelines.

"Two paces march!" They all took two large steps forward, then stood in attention. A dashing man walked up at the end of the lines, dressed in a blue and gold coat and very decorative tricorne, under the hat was a powdered wig, hiding his brown hair. His hands were behind his back, a serious look on his face. "Right about face!" the soldiers took a step back on their right foot, spun around on their heels, and faced the opposite line of men. Governor Possible watched from his place at the center stage, an easy smile on his face as he rocked a little on his heel.

"Present arms!" they threw the muskets forward and held them up, causing the barrels to touch and creating an arch. The man of the hour, his expression ever stiff, walked forward, going into the path made by the guns and soldiers.

Kimberly fanned herself even harder as she stood with the rest of the audience; the sun was beating down on her now, and her clothes were so thick, she warmed up much faster then anyone loosely dressed would. The heat, the corset, they worked in harmony, keeping air from filling her lungs. _Just a little more time, _she reminded herself, but the heat continued to beat her down. This ceremony had to end soon, it just had to. She might fall down dead if it didn't.

Governor Possible removed the newly crafted sword from its wooden case, which was being held up by a close friend of his. James turned to the Commodore, and presented it to him. Barkin pulled the sword from the sheath and held it in his left hand, then tossed it to his right hand and pointed it outward.

As The Commodore tested out the sword, Kimberly squirmed, now trying to adjust her corset to some point where it'd be comfortable, fanning herself all the while. The heat, the corset, the heat, the corset. She was losing her breath constantly. _Please Father, just finish up!_

The stranger jogged, coolly, down the boardwalk, looking out at the beachfront, and the ship ported by it. The boardwalk sloped down suddenly and took the man down, down to the dock. That was his target. That ship. Now just to get to it. Walking drunkly, he strolled down. That's when he saw two Royal Marines at the bottom!

Both very young, teen years to twenties, no more, no less. The first was tall, broad-shouldered, and semi-muscular under his red coat. He had brown eyes and short, black, wavy hair, he leaned against one of the boardwalk's foundation posts casually while his comrade sat on some nearby barrels, digging something out of his shoe. He was a bit skinnier then the other, with hazel eyes and, long brown hair that was tied back. He'd removed his hat and was using it as a lady used a fan. They were both obliviously taking shelter in the shade and guarding their post at the same time; they were also very wrapped up in whatever conversation they were having. They were distracted, and probably wouldn't notice him. But he rushed down the rest of the way regardless.

The two young soldiers spotted the stranger despite his speed-up, and both went after him. The skinnier one put his hat on, and grabbed his musket up from its resting place. They raced ahead and stopped the man dead in his tracks, blocking his way and view of the ship, holding their muskets up so the stranger could see them.

"This dock is off limits to civilians," said the skinnier one, John was his name. The stranger looked unfazed.

"I'm terribly sorry, I didn't know," he said raising his hands in unison with his words, "If I see one, I shall inform you immediately." He took a large step to the right and, once more, attempted to enter the dock. The two soldiers blocked him again. The stranger looked at the two of them in surprise. This was going to be harder then he thought. He took a deep breath and spoke with the same, unfazed expression.

"Apparently there's some sort of high toned and fancy to do up at the fort, eh?" he said, changing the subject. Hector, the other soldier, looked up at the fort at this, but John's eyes never swayed from the man. The stranger continued. "How could it be that two upstanding gentlemen such as yourselves did not merit an invitation?" he spoke with a look of mock disbelief.

The two young men looked at him as if they themselves had asked this question, but did not say so aloud.

"Someone has to make sure this dock stays off limits to civilians." John merely replied after a moment. The stranger nodded.

"It's a fine goal to be sure but it seems to me that-" he continued, walking to the left. John and Thomas followed his every move and stood in his way in case he should try to enter the dock yet again, the stranger continued talking as they did so, "that a _boat_like that makes this one here a bit superfluous, really." he gestured out to the waters, where the _H.M.S Dauntless _sat in all its glory, then at the other ship, the_Interceptor, _they had at dock. The two men looked back at him quickly.

"Ship," Thomas corrected with a stern look.

"Ship, right." the stranger said dismissively.

"Oh, the _Dauntless_ is the power in these waters, true enough," said young John knowledgeably, catching the stranger's attention yet again, "but there's no ship as can match the _Interceptor_ for speed."

The stranger mockingly thought John's words over, placing his hand on his chin for a second. Then spoke. "I've heard of one, supposed to be very fast - nigh un-catchable...the _Black Pearl_."

The two young soldiers looked amused. Thomas laughed heartily, while John's mouth twisted up sourly in disbelief, but he didn't say a word. They both looked at the stranger as if what he was saying didn't make sense at all.

"There's no real ship as can match the _Interceptor_!" chuckled Thomas brightly. Melvin heard this, and turned to his comrade, losing his lemon face.

"_The Black Pearl _is a real ship," he said. Thomas looked at John with a goofy smile, still holding back giggles.

"No, it's not," he said, and looked back at the stranger, John persisted.

"Yes, it is! I've seen it!" he replied. Thomas looked back at his skinny friend with a more serious gleam in his eyes.

"You've seen it?" the brawny soldier asked disbelievingly.

"Yes," John replied again.

"You haven't seen it." Thomas insisted. The stranger, who was watching their argument unfold, rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I have," John continued. Thomas sighed and leaned his face closer to John's, the serious expression overpowered the young soldier.

"You've seen a ship with black sails, that's crewed by the condemned and captained by a man so evil that Hell itself spat him back out?" Thomas asked. John seemed to think about it for a second.

"No," he answered. Thomas nodded with the same serious expression.

"No," he echoed, and turned back to the stranger, who smiled at him, friendly-like. John spoke once more.

"But I have seen a ship with black sails." he added. Thomas looked back at him, obviously tired of this conversation. While their backs were turned, the stranger managed to slip away from view and onto the dock.

"Oh, and no ship that's not crewed by the condemned and captained by a man so evil that Hell itself spat him back out could possibly have black sails therefore couldn't possibly be any other ship than the _Black Pearl._ Is that what you're saying?" John was quiet for a second, then nodded with a smile.

"No,"

Thomas nodded. His point had been proven. "Like I said," they both turned away from each other, "there's no real ship as can match the _Interceptor_-"

They suddenly both realized that the stranger had vanished. Franticly, they looked up and down the dock, then, John spotted him, standing at the wheel of the _Interceptor, _moving it up and down and looking as though he owned the ship. The two soldiers grabbed up their muskets and tore after him yet again.

"Hey! You!" John shouted as they jumped on board the _Interceptor_, he and Thomas. The stranger watched them with a perplexed expression. Both ran up to the wheel and John instantly aimed his weapon at the stranger. "Get away from there!" Thomas stepped up next to him, his musket also ready to be fired.

"You don't have permission to be aboard there, mate," he said. The stranger didn't step away from the wheel entirely, but kept one hand on it as he moved.

"I'm sorry, it's just - it's such a pretty boat. _Ship._" he added quickly, holding his hand up in defense. The two young soldiers were quiet for moment.

"What's your name?" asked John finally, still ready to shoot.

The stranger grabbed the wheel with both hands. "Smith. Or Smithy, if you like."

Thomas lowered his weapon for a second. "What's your purpose in Port Royal, _Mr. Smith_?" He re-raised the musket.

"Yeah, and no lies!" John added quickly.

"Well, then, I confess," the stranger moved a bit from the wheel, stepped away completely, and walked forward. Hector and Melvin never lowered their weapons, but backed up with each step he took forward. "It is my intention to commandeer one of these ships, pick up a crew in Tortuga, raid, pillage, plunder and otherwise pilfer my weasely black guts out!" He grabbed on to the nearby rigging and leaned against it casually. John's eyes widened.

"I said no lies!" he shouted in annoyance.

"I think he's telling the truth," Thomas said quietly, never looking away from the stranger. John looked up at his fellow soldier.

"If he were telling the truth, he wouldn't have told us." John stated. The intrude from the stranger's voice caused the young soldier to jump.

"Unless, of course, he knew you wouldn't believe the truth even if he told it to you." said the stranger. John nodded and smiled, but then frowned. Even he was confused now.

After the ceremony was over, everyone headed for the battlement for a small party of sorts. It was wonderful. The people were enjoying themselves, there was food and music and talk. The battlement was the perfect place for this, the size was just right and the view was exceptional.

Kimberly stood close to the open area, but in the shade at the same time, still fanning herself excessively. She just couldn't catch her breath, the corset was killing her. _The moment I get home, I'm ripping this thing off!_ Governor Possible suddenly approached her; she turned to him looking quite wary.

"Ah, Kimberly, wasn't The Commodore fantastic? I knew he'd like that sword! You could tell he did, couldn't you?"

"Yes, you could Father, I-" Kimberly began, and grunted painfully. James seemed to notice.

"Kimberly, is everything all right?" he asked in worry.

"Well, actually, Father-" she began.

An elderly man suddenly tapped The Governor on the shoulder; he looked back at him quickly.

"James, if I could have a word please..." he muttered. The Governor nodded to him with a smile.

"Oh, of course!" he said. Governor walked away with him soon after.

"No, uh, Father!" Kimberly called, but he was gone again. Kimberly sighed, brushing back a loose hair. She didn't mean to complain, but if she didn't get back home soon, and remove the thing that was ailing her, something bad could happen! She knew that deprivation of air, at some point, would cause her to pass out, and the last she wanted was to fall over in the wrong place, namely here. She didn't really want to pass out at all, in fact.

Just when she thought that the situation couldn't get any worse the newly promoted Commodore walked up and made his presence known to unsuspecting Kimberly "Might I have a moment of your time Miss Possible?" he inquired with the most sincere voice he could muster.

Commodore Barkin led Kimberly to the platform of the battlement, from which they could see the ocean outstretching beyond the fort, and the ships floating, ported close by, some included the _Dauntless _and the _Interceptor._ He took her hand like a gentleman, and walked her to a stone lift; she nodded to him, a strange and rare thanks, for she could barely keep on her feet due to her lack of air. She climbed the rest of the way by herself, balancing against the wall with a knuckled hand, holding her unfolded fan tightly in it. When she was fully on the platform, she leaned against the wall, held her chest, and continued fanning herself. The sun began re-attacking her from that point, sweat beaded down her pretty forehead. Barkin climbed up easily, his hands behind his back, casual-like, because, unlike Kimberly, he was not wearing a corset.

He looked at her with a bright smile. She was too occupied to notice.

"Uh, you look lovely, Kimberly." he said awkwardly after a moment. Kimberly heard him, and although not in the mood to talk and in serious need of air, she smiled back at him as best she could, giggling to match, as if trying to sound flattered. She grabbed his chest in pain again, then fanned herself even more speedily. No feelings about Barkin, bad or good, mattered anymore, she had to get down from this platform and back home now!

Barkin looked out at the sea, took a deep breath, and spoke. "I, uh, apologize if I seem forward, but I must speak my mind." Kimberly tried to move the corset again as he spoke, only half listening. "This promotion throws into sharp relief that which I have not yet achieved." he looked back at Kimberly, obviously building up to something, obviously now having the courage to say why he'd always wanted to say.

"A marriage to a fine woman. You have become a fine woman, Kimberly." She heard that part, and looked up to him, wide eyed. This was too much! This was all just too much! That's when it all fell into place, the corset, the heat, Barkin; their collaborative workings today were too much for Kimberly to handle.

"I can't breathe," she said as loudly as possible, and trying to tell him, she _really_ couldn't breathe.

"Yes, I'm a bit nervous myself." Commodore Barkin said, watching the ocean with deep eyes, paying Kimberly no real mind now. Trying to gather his own thoughts, carefully awaiting her answer.

A few more sharp breathes, and then Kimberly lost consciousness, as I said, it was all too much for her, and as she said, the lack of air would cause her to eventually faint. Eyes closed and lifeless, her limp body slipped off the battlement wall. During the plummet, her hat came undone and fluttered away, floating down onto the water.

Steven didn't notice a thing.

Back down on the HMS Interceptor "...And then they made me their chief." the stranger finished his story and shrugged. Thomas and John leaned against the side of the _Interceptor_, listening with interest. They suddenly turned toward the ocean at the _splash _of a woman's body hitting the water. The stranger looked to the two soldiers quickly.

The Commodore turned back around, only to find no Kimberly Possible. Alarmed, he began looking about the battlement. "Kimberly?" he called, turning this way and that.

Then the Commodore looked down the waters were disturbed, bubbling, white and rough, and Kimberly's body was sinking below the surface of the waves. It was shallow where she'd fallen, but that didn't change the fact that she was drowning. The young Commodore's eyes bulged.

"Kimberly!" he shouted, and quickly began removing his coat, as if to dive after her. He was right there the whole time! And she'd fallen, or jumped (perhaps because of his proposal), all when his back was turned. How could he let this happen? He felt as though she was his responsibly right now, and he had to save her! His left arm was out of the sleeve when Gillette grabbed it. He turned to Gillette with surprise.

"Sir, the rocks; it's a miracle she missed them!" they both looked back down, and realized he was right, they had to find another way, or risk two people dying in those waters. They looked back down at the ocean; the young aristocrat was no longer visible. They exchanged nervous looks before Barkin spoke and told Gillette to go get help, and that he'd be right behind him. The young Lieutenant nodded back to him quickly, then raced into the ceremony, shouting and screaming, frantic for the people's attention. Commodore Barkin pulled back on his coat, and looked back at the waters with a most worry filled expression. His whole future was supposed to revolve around that day, but instead it was sinking, sinking like a badly built ship. He best go help Gillette, rally the troupes, anything! They had to get down to Kimberly Anne Possible before she drowned!

The stranger looked from over the _Interceptor_'s rail at the distant water where he'd just seen a young woman fall, and his calm attitude faded somewhat. He watched as people on the battlement franticly pointed down to the troubled waters and gasped and screamed, a man he presumed as the governor of the town looked very distressed from his point. The stranger sighed somberly. Even _if _those people had some course of action planned, by means of rescue, they could never reach her in time. She'd be long dead when they finally got down to the waters. The only ones who could get to her in time were those down at the dock, and, it appeared that, the only ones aware of this predicament were the two young soldiers, and himself. His eyes never leaving that spot in the water, he spoke.

"Will you be saving her then?" the stranger asked to both soldiers, who stood on either side of him, looking much more uneasy then he did. Thomas looked up at the stranger, and grasped his musket tighter, as if for comfort, and answered first.

"I can't swim!" he admitted shakily, then looked back out. The stranger turned to him disbelievingly, then stared at John, who looked surprised, then shook his head shamefully and quickly, for the same reasons as Hector.

The stranger rolled his eyes. "Pride of the King's Navy you are." he commented to the both of them. This meant he was the only one left, and he so hated having to be the hero. But without another thought, he ripped off his coat and handed it to Thomas.

"Do not lose this!" he told him sternly, he then tore off his cutlass, pistol, shoulder sash, and finally, his hat, and divided them up between the two soldiers. Then, with a quick movement, he climbed up onto the railing by grabbing the rigging, then gracefully dived off the ship, plunging into the water like a torpedo.

Not far from him, Kimberly was sinking, sinking down. Since she was already deprived of air when she fell, drowning would be all too easy once she was underwater long enough. Her red hair came out of its tight bun and floated around her face, then the pirate medallion strangely came loose from the place in her dress. The coin spun demonically in the waters, an evil shine coming off of it, almost as though it had a mind of its own. Hanging from the neck of its near dead possessor, the face looked to the surface, and the coin pulsed, a strange, supernatural throb, like the beating of an invisible drum. The blue waters around it pulsed as well, and it made its way to the surface.

John and Thomas were looking down over the railing, watching for the stranger's return, when a surge jumped out from the water. It wasn't something physical, you could never have seen it, but both soldiers felt it go straight through them and sail over the ocean. John turned to his friend with wide eyes; Thomas looked him as well, holding the stranger's old brown coat over his shoulder.

"What was that?" John asked softly. Thomas shrugged, unsure of the strange feeling himself.

The once still British flag that hung on the mast of the _Interceptor_ was picked up by sudden, bizarre, unexplained winds, it blew in from the east, causing the flag to fly backward and whip against the mast. Upon hearing the slapping sound, Thomas and John looked up, startled by the sudden gust on such a hot and still day. It was most peculiar. The winds became stronger in a split-second, pushing the young soldiers back a ways and having them hold their hats on their heads. The flag completely unfurled backwards and was ripped straight off the mast, fluttering away from the _Interceptor,_ caught in the winds brought on by a most curious weather change.

The skies suddenly went from blue and clear to black and cloudy much quicker then thought naturally possible, casting a most dark shadow over Port Royal and nearly blowing the island off the map with her winds. Everywhere you went, people held their hats on, animals seemed tense and flustered, dust and papers were picked up from the ground and thrown about. At the cove, the skeletal remains of the hanged pirates rattled together. And at the ceremony, the small group of musicians tried their best to play while keeping their powdered wigs on their heads. The people looked out at the oncoming bad weather with surprise, for it had been sunny and dry just moments ago. A white parasol was torn from a woman's hand, and sent rolling across the ground.

The worst had begun.

The stranger swam deeper and deeper down, keeping an eye open for the sinking woman, this was harder underwater then it would have been on land, so this required looking extra carefully. Now he could hold his breath for quite some time, but he had to reach her soon, she'd been under for almost two minutes now, and her chances of survival were slimming very quickly. He knew, he been through this before. It wasn't like he'd never dived in after a drowning woman, but really hoped this time would be the last. It was a very tiresome job.

A sudden blur of red five feet below him, caught his eye, diverting his thoughts from the past.

There she was. She was young, no more then her twenties, with pretty red hair and a nice face. Her hair was loose and floating almost deathly. The salty, blue waters made her yellow dress look sickly green. She reminded him of another redhead he knew, he couldn't place why though. She was much better looking then- The stranger shook his head from his thoughts, waving them out into the water. That wasn't important now. The girl sinking fast, and unconscious. She would be dead very soon.

Another powerful kick from his legs, and he took after her. At the speed his was going, he should've been able to catch up soon.

Kimberly's body hit the sandy ocean floor; causing her bottom half to bounce and her skirts to float up, then settle with the rest of her body. The medallion rested on her chest, gleaming strangely, as it never had before. The sands stirred by her settled as well. All was very still, for a moment.

The stranger reached her seconds later, swimming down to the sands below with the gracefulness of a sea creature and grabbing her around the chest and arms, pushing the medallion to her side, stopping its call.

Once he had her firmly in his grasp, he launched himself back up, heading for the surface.

Because of Kimberly and the fact that she proved to be no help, the trip up was slower then the one down, but as I said before, the waters were shallow there, so it took him less then a minute to breach the surface, gasping and sputtering and spitting out water. One arm wrapped around Kimberly, who was at his left side, arm on his shoulder, the other he used to swim.

He had not even caught his breath when felt himself being dragged back under. He tried to keep afloat with his free hand, but after swimming several feet, he went under again, so quickly that he gurgled water somewhat before he could hold his breath. He then realized what was dragging them down, the girl's dress. It had soaked up so much water; it was acting as extra weight.

He quickly moved from her a bit, and she tried floating off again, but he was faster. He looked down at her chest, then grabbed the front of her dress, left side, and ripped it open, revealing her under dress. He then managed to tear the yellow dress off the rest of the way, separating it from the girl. It drifted away from the pair. The stranger, now able to carry Kimberly up, grabbed her again and swam back up to the surface.

As the stormy weather rolled in over the ocean, Commodore Barkin and a platoon of Royal Navy soldiers were finally making their way to the docks, in a hurry too, Barkin was leading them. He was ready to save Kimberly now, but what he was about to find out was that she'd already been saved.

The stranger emerged from the waters between the _Interceptor _and the dock with Kimberly now over his shoulder, feeling very tired out after a near tragic rescue, but they weren't out of the woods just yet. He grabbed onto the ladder that trailed off the dock and began pulling himself up. Hector and Melvin, who had both seen him surface, raced down from the _Interceptor_ and, instead of helping him up, helped him get Kimberly onto the dock. They pulled the young girl off his shoulder together, each holding a side of her limp body, they lowered her down as gently as they could.

"I got her," grunted Thomas before helping John set her on the wooden planks of the dock. Her head fell limply, her eyes remained closed. She was sopping wet, her bright red, fluffy hair was now dark and straightened out in stringy clumps. Her under dress was soaked with water, but luckily was not as heavy as her yellow dress, nor was it lightly layered, so she was well covered. Hector checked her nose and mouth.

"She not breathing!" he exclaimed, now somewhat nerve-wrecked. John showed to have the same feelings.

"Move!" the stranger called. He climbed up the rest of the way and pushed between the two, kneeling at the side of Kimberly. He seemingly pulled a knife from nowhere and sliced the blade over the front of her corset. He then threw the knife aside and pulled open the tight clothing. With room in her lungs, Kimberly could breathe again. Her eyes shot open and she began coughing up water violently, in shock and not sure where she was. The stranger tore the corset away and handed it to a befuddled Melvin, who scrambled it around in his hands before getting a firm grasp. Thomas looked down in amazement at the action the stranger had taken.

"Never would've thought of that." he remarked. The stranger looked at him with a tired-but proud-expression, water dripping from his nose.

"Clearly you've never been to Singapore." he replied. Thomas gazed at him strangely, to which the stranger was about to break into another story, when the sound of footsteps approaching the dock alerted them. The stranger didn't hear it though, he had looked down at Kimberly, as to make sure she was still okay, and she was, breathing profoundly, drinking in the life she thought she wouldn't see again.

And then he saw the medallion, draped across the shoulder of her undergarment, looking very innocent and normal now. He slowly, carefully reached down and picked up the small coin in his fingers. Kimberly, now regaining her thoughts, looked up at the pirate medallion, then at him, and gazed blurrily. The stranger looked upon the fine details of the medallion, then looked down to Kimberly in shocked surprise, he'd never thought he'd see this again, much less here and in the possession of a woman he'd just saved from drowning.

"Where did you get that?" he asked her quietly, wide eyed.

Before Kimberly could even compose a thought of answering, there was a strange, high _clang, _and the stranger looked up, finding himself face to face with the sharp point of a sword, Commodore Barkin holding it at his nose.

He looked quite angry and fearless, surrounded by seven, or more, British Royal Navy soldiers, not including John and Thomas, all carrying muskets. The stranger was taken aback. There was an intense, quiet moment between the two; he thought The Commodore might run him through right then and there. But Steven Barkin, never calming down one bit, lowered his sword a little, but only so that it still posed a threat.

"On your feet," he ordered the stranger brutally, by the tone of his voice, the stranger could tell that _was_ an order and _he_ was no joke. Without another thought of it, he slowly rose from the ground, guiding the sword point with his hand as The Commodore followed him with it.

Kimberly watched drowsy eyed from the dock, if she'd had the strength, she would've kicked The Commodore right there, right over the dock; he was being box-minded and black and white again. He didn't understand! If she could just have a moment to explain-

A familiar voice called her name through the crowd of soldiers, desperately trying to get to her.

"Kimberly!" Governor Possible channeled through a sea of tricornes and muskets, and ran to his daughter, Kimberly watched. _And now he pays attention to me, _she thought jadedly. The Governor raced up next to the dazed young woman, taking her by the hand and helping her up. She stood shakily, but quickly, trying to regain her footing. He quickly removed his coat and set over his arm. Kimberly wasn't watching him though, or even hugging him as he had expected. She grabbed at her medallion swiftly, but it slipped in her wet hands the first time.

"Are you all right?" he asked, the words barely made it into her ears, but Kimberly heard him, still trying to hold her medallion closer to her person.

"Yes, I'm fine," she replied quickly, now trying to look back at the stranger, searching for answers to why he recognized her medallion. But he had turned away from her, not daring to look her in the eyes again while the commodore of the Royal Navy had a sword pointed at his person, or around her father, who had began to pull his coat over her shoulders.

This was all very strange, waking up on the dock, nearly drowning, and then this, this outlandish discovery of her rescuer's knowledge of her medallion, of which she had stolen from her best friend many years ago. Kimberly couldn't help but think, _This is just too weird!_

Governor Possible adjusted his coat over Kimberly's shoulders, trying to comfort her and warm her, as a father should, but saw that she hadn't really notice him or anything he was doing, she hadn't even embraced him like she always did. She was paying attention to something else other then him right now. One was the necklace that hung around her neck, a strange, medallion of sorts, where'd she get that? He'd never seen it before.

Two was the convict seen dragging Kimberly from the watery grave she could've very well faced. James looked at him, and didn't know what to think of the man, so scruffy-looking and ragged; most likely a thief of some sort, yet he had just saved his daughter. James thought about it, there had to be some good in him if he were to risk drowning himself to save a girl he did not know, even if he was a thief. Maybe The Commodore was overreacting after all. But James' open-mindedness was about to be changed.

He looked over to the stranger, as if to thank him for his bravery, but instead, saw John, standing next to the hero, looking rather natural, but relived that he had not been the witness of a dead woman, and he was holding Kimberly's corset up in both hands, he still had it! The Governor's eyes widened warningly, filled with as much anger and horror as a father could muster. John saw this and, suddenly frightened that The Governor thought the gallows a rather reasonable punishment for his non-existent misdeeds toward Kimberly. He threw the corset down quickly, discarding it like a deadly snake, then pointed to the stranger, happy to toss the blame to someone else, even though said party was guiltless of said crime. The stranger saw this and gazed at him in surprise.

The Governor fluffed out his coat and draped it on Kimberly, infuriated, the fires of Davy Jones' Locker burning in his eyes. "Shoot him!" he exclaimed to The Commodore, who was already prepared to kill. Kimberly felt a shock wave run down her spine. No!

"Father!" she said, and grabbed her father's shirt collar gently, pulling for his attention like a child. He quickly looked back down at an upset and slightly enraged face.

"Wha-?" James was confused, why was she stopping him? She should want him dead as well.

Kimberly didn't think to answer him, but turned to Commodore Barkin, whose sword point had drifted to the stranger's neck. She had a very solemn, serious look on her face as she spoke. "Commodore," she said, her father holding her by the arms protectively, she almost looked as though she would push him away, "do you really intend to kill my rescuer?"

Barkin heard her every word, but refused to move for a second. Despite his rage, he knew she was right, this man had saved her, he had done what Steven would've never been able to do in time. But _he _was only trying to protect her, after all, she looked as though she were in a very delicate position when he had arrived, half dead, stripped down to her unmentionables, with three men, two of which were his own soldiers, standing around her. He had expected her to be dead, or hurt, but it was apparent, that was not the case. He still deeply resented this man, this stranger, something gave him such a deep feeling of distrust, and he could very well root it, because inwardly, he was not fond of the idea that _this wretched man _had been the savior of Kimberly, and not himself.

Kimberly, seeing his resistance to her orders, stared him down a bit. Although she really had no authority over him, she was a very persistent girl, and The Commodore knew it. He knew she would not stop until this man was free to walk away from this scene without one scratch. He could at least do her this honor, show her that he had more compassion then she believed, hopefully.

After a moment, he slid his sword back into its sheath, then nodded to his men, and they all raised their guns from the stranger, a bit taken aback that their new Commodore was doing such a act as of which he had done. Governor Possible looked at him in surprise, with the same notion in his mind. The stranger, on the other hand, turned to a pleased, yet still serious, Kimberly, placed his hands together, and nodded thanks to her. She looked back at him with a smile.

Barkin walked forward a bit, and to the surprise of everyone, outstretched his hand to the stranger.

"I believe thanks are in order," he said with a strange, but unusually warm, smile. The Governor smirked at the act, amused. Kimberly was a bit more surprised then she should have been by The Commodore's sudden kind act to a person he had just wanted to kill. _Sudden kindness to a convicted man? From Barkin? Wait a minute... oh no, _she thought, but he was too quick for her to react.

The stranger was careful, reclusive at first, as if he had sensed what Kimberly had sensed, but the feeling quickly passed. Maybe this chap wasn't so bad after all.

He slowly reached out and shook Barkin's hand, but before he could do so properly, the young Commodore grabbed the stranger's wrist, pulled him forward, and ripped his sleeve up, revealing a 'P' that rested on his wrist. Pinkish, bare skin centered inside the letter, while the rest of his arm was tanned dark and hairy, it looked as though it had been branded onto him with a hot iron. Anyone who reached this conclusion squirmed a bit right then, it sounded too painful for anyone to speak of it.

The stranger looked down at the spot with surprise, amazed that the young man had known of the insignia some were branded with by some who believed it to be fitting, not many knew of it. The Commodore didn't let go of him.

"Had a brush with the East India Trading Company, _pirate?_" he asked, adding much flavor on his last word. The stranger flinched a bit at being called this, or was it because The Commodore was gripping his arm too tightly? Kimberly couldn't tell which.

How conniving of him! How could he know that this man was a... a pirate. A real live pirate had saved her life. _Now_ the day was just too weird!

The men all re-raised their guns when this so darkly said term was called out to the stranger. The Governor held Kimberly closer, his fear for her now truly ignited. There hadn't been a pirate in Port Royal, not caught, for over two months, and that wasn't about to change.

"Hang him." he said very nervously, but as calmly as he could.

Kimberly looked up at her father in horror. Then at the stranger, whose wrist The Commodore still had, obviously restraining him. She didn't know what to say to this! How could he? How could Father do this? To say such things about the man who had just saved her life, unbelievable! It seemed as though the only people she could trust in this town were Ron, and the pirate. Or that's what it felt like to her.

"Keep your guns on him, men," The Commodore ordered the Royal Marines, who were all readied with muskets lowered at the man. Barkin looked over his shoulder at the second in command, who stood proudly, watching in awe at the pirate's unmasking, so to speak. He raised his head at The Commodore when he heard his name called.

"Gillette, fetch some irons." the young man nodded to The Commodore in respect.

"Aye, sir," he replied and laughed as he rushed off to get a pair of manacles, as ordered.

The Commodore looked back at the stranger, his eyes fervidly filled with coldness. This was unusual for him, despite popular belief, but his almost vengeful attitude toward the stranger, discrete dislike of pirates, and loyalty to The Crown, was taking a toll on him. And he wanted more still. Make this blackheart suffer! He shifted the man's sleeve up even farther, as if to find some hidden weapon or lowly battle scar, but instead, came to something much different, very interesting, and what he wanted no less.

A tattoo had been beautifully placed right above the stranger's pirate brand, an elegant one too. It depicted a sunset, bright and big in all its darkly colored glory. And flying into the sunset was a small, glossy, and slightly meek looking bird, the same color as the sun. A sparrow, The Commodore noted, remembering that each convicted pirate can be recognized by the tattoo on their fore wrist. He smirked at the stranger.

"Well, Jack Sparrow, isn't it?" he asked mockingly, looking at the tattoo with almost surprise. Kimberly listened from her father's arms and nearly grasped, that name! _Jack Sparrow..._, she thought, remembering the stories well. The stranger, or Jack, as we will refer to him from now on, finally pulled his wrist away sharply, and looked at The Commodore with the most mocking respect ever.

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow," Jack said in a calm tone, "If you please, sir."


	3. Chapter 3

The group stood on the Royal Navy's docking port, situated right below the battlement residing on a seaside cliff. Just minutes ago, The Governor's young daughter had fallen from said battlement, out of lack of air and sudden shock, and into the waters below, certain drowning awaiting her. That was, until Jack Sparrow, a famed–yet strange- Caribbean pirate, dived in after her and got her to the surface. Certainly a rescue to be praised, for sure, but unfortunately, not everyone was very pleased about the outcome concerning the rescuer, having the history he had.

One of these people being the girl's father, James Possible, whom had an increasingly high dislike of piracy, and a sometimes-compulsive over-protectiveness toward his daughter. And there was Commodore Steven Barkin, whom had just recently proposed to Kimberly. He deeply cared for the young woman's safety, almost as much, if not more then, her father, and resented pirates with the same amount of commitment. He hated Jack particularly, for he believed that the pirate had stolen his chance to prove himself a hero in the eyes of his fiancée hopeful. Kimberly disagreed with them both, and thought they were overreacting, as she had for all her life. But then she had never agreed with most statements made in her time.

Now, as dark clouds rolled over a usually sunny island, the pirate and the Commodore exchanged banter.

"Well, Jack Sparrow, isn't it?" he asked mockingly, looking at the tattoo with almost surprise. Jack looked at The Commodore with the most mocking respect ever.

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow," Jack said in a calm tone, "If you please, sir."

Having heard this, Barkin almost scoffed at Jack's remark. "Well, I don't see your ship, _Captain._" he said, earning slight laughs from the soldiers behind him.

Jack looked unfazed by the mocking, and he sighed somewhat.

"I'm in the market, as it were." he spoke, wording the sentence as carefully as he could think possible, looking The Commodore dead in the eyes. Barkin lightly sneered down at the pirate.

John heard this and remembered Jack's words from before.

"He'd said he'd come to commandeer one," he told the Commodore calmly, ratting Jack out. The pirate glared at the young soldier from out of the corner of his eye.

Thomas, who stood not but three feet from Jack, looked at his fellow soldier, surprised by the sudden revelation he had made. There was something of pride in his eyes as well. He seemed to lean forward, toward John.

"Told ya he was telling the truth!" he said haughtily, his chest puffing out. He was glad to be the right one this time around.

He turned to the Commodore much more composed. "These are his, sir," he knelt down, grabbing a bunch of strange looking items from off the dock and gathering them up in his arms, then presenting them to the Commodore. Coat, hat, cutlass, everything. Jack's belongings.

The pirate seemingly reached for his effects lovingly as they were taken by the Commodore, but didn't dare grab one, although he was fast enough and smart enough that he could've taken any number of the weapons without a problem from any soldier.

The Commodore looked at the collection, picking through it as he went, and much to the pirate's dismay, he pulled out the black powder pistol. Old, but a good one no less, very clean and in good condition. Barkin checked the ammo.

"No additional shot or powder," he commented, looking at the one lowly bullet inside it. He set the pistol back in the pile with a sigh.

Then surfaced a small, black metal box with slivery scratched edges, a rounded top, and a brown leather strap running off the back. He opened its rusted latch and revealed a beautiful compass face. Numbers 00 through 350, counted by ten, curved over the gold rim, a bright red needle circled the white face, moving around a bronze center.

It wavered about, but no matter what Barkin tried, the compass just wouldn't stay straight. The needle kept pointing east, in Kimberly's direction. He looked at the young redhead, then closed the compass back sharply.

"A compass that's doesn't point north," his tone was a bit surprised, but sneering no less.

The Commodore grabbed at the hilt of Jack's cutlass, which Thomas held in his open hand, all while propping up the other things with the rest of the arm and the whole of the other.

Barkin pulled it from its sheath, revealing a slivery metal cutlass, very similar to his own, but different. For instance, Barkin's sword is more what you landlubbers might call a standard issue, no matter how much gold is in the handle, and no matter how much it cost Ronald Stoppable to forge; it was still a very plain sword, and very common among the soldiers and commanding officers of the Royal Navy, that modal was long and heavy too, you had to be very strong indeed in order to thrust it in battle.

Jack's sword was unlike this, it was a cutlass, another popular weapon, but not with The Fleet, I'm afraid. Pirates, now they favored the cutlasses, amidst quite a few other cruel items they used to pillage and plunder their drunken way across The Caribbean. The cutlass was no honest man's sword; it was made for the kill in cold blood, the slaughter of innocence, and the pry of a wooden chest aboard a Spanish treasure galleon. The cutlass was short-made for quicker movements and slashes, also helping with this were a much sharper edged blade and its shape, both fashioned to help the handler in battle. So, it was pretty simple to run someone through or cut off an appendage (or anything else) with a sword like the cutlass, a weapon forged of wickedness in Barkin's eyes. He looked at Jack with a very dishonest smile.

"And I half expected it to made of wood," he said snarkily. Jack smiled back at him in a reflected way, signaling his powerful distaste for the young man. Barkin ignored this and shoved the sword back into the sheath, so hard that Thomas felt it hit the bottom, which was supported against his stomach. A painful 'kick in the gut' feeling surged through him, or perhaps his finger had been caught between the sword and the hilt, he never said for sure.

The Commodore waved away the pirate's junk, as he thought it, then turned to Jack, shaking his head in disbelief. The pirate had come to Port Royal, not very well armed save for his sword, to steal a ship of the British Royal Navy from two very young, gullible soldiers, but instead, dives in after a drowning woman and hands said soldiers all his less then weapons, utterly leaving him defenseless when the Commodore and the rest of His Majesty's Fleet of The Caribbean arrives to save this drowning woman and manages to arrest the pirate whom had just pulled himself, and the woman, upon the docks. Barkin could say one thing to that.

"You are, without a doubt, the worst pirate I have ever heard of," he spoke stingingly.

Jack was still unfazed by his words, and was silent for a moment before countering the remark.

"Ah. But you have heard of me," he replied in a tone filled with the utmost confidence.

Barkin had had more then enough of him. Upon seeing Gillette return with the irons, he grabbed Jack by the arm yet again, more so his upper arm and elbow this time, and roughly dragged him down the boardwalk, stomping like an angered horse with each step he took.

Jack seemed surprised, but didn't fight The Commodore off, and wasn't really bothered by this turn of events, just surprised.

He _let _the young Commodore lead him to certain death. Well, if he wasn't going to stand up for himself, then Kimberly would. Taken aback, the young aristocrat pushed her father away, and before he could react, she was tagging behind the pair, now barefooted, for she had lost her shoes in the water. It was painful. She could feel splinters etching into her soft feet, picked up from the wooden dock, but she didn't care.

"Commodore! Please! I really must protest!" she called to him, hoping to persuade Barkin yet again to spare Jack's life, though she wasn't sure she really done so the first time.

Gillette was waiting at the front of the dock when they reached him, holding a pair of heavy-looking manacles. Rusted, finely forged metal, with a chain that connected the two metal clamps, indicating that anyone who wore them would not be able to move one arm away from the other, or one leg away from the other, depending on where you locked them on.

Barkin pulled Jack forward barbarically, navigating his wrist to where Junior could lock on the manacles. Junior immediately went to work, sliding Jack's wrist into the first clamp. The pirate never tried to run; he just stood there and allowed himself to be chained up. Barkin nodded in satisfaction, then turned away.

When Kimberly managed to catch up, she looked back at Lieutenant Gillette and Jack, and then at Barkin, whose expression had softened again, he smiled at her, but her expression hadn't ceased its fury since she'd awoken. Barkin saw this. She hadn't shown him the least bit of gratification yet, and he thought he was helping her. He was doing something wrong, what was he doing wrong?

The Governor and the Royal Marines marched up the dock. The soldiers, including John and Thomas, needed to be close in case Sparrow tried to escape, and Kimberly's father disparate to catch her, still believing her to be badly shaken and in need of getting inside. Kimberly, on the other hand, was raging at the young Commodore for using her trust to arrest her savior. Her eyes flared like her father's before her as she screamed.

"Pirate or not, this man saved my life!" she exclaimed, pointing to Jack, who was, yet again, ignoring her, that was really starting to bug her too. She was trying to help him! He could at least acknowledge that!

Kimberly looked up into the eyes of The Commodore, searching for some understanding, some heart, some sign that this man, whom had just proposed to her not long ago, cared for her the way he claimed he did. But all she saw there was resentment, at what she'd spoken? Possibly. She'd seen this grimace in his eyes before, the same look he had given Jack, deep in rigged hate and unfailing anger. A connection was made in her mind. Her eyes lowered.

"Or are you just jealous?" she asked knowingly, but very sneeringly, a dull gleam shining in her green eyes. She wasn't stupid, and couldn't believe he was acting on emotions such as this when arresting someone. How childish of him.

Barkin gasped and scoffed at the notion, obviously finding it mind-boggling. Her crossed his arms over his chest. "Me? Jealous? Of him?" he gestured to Jack, then shook his head and spoke kindly to the girl. "You are mistaken, milady."

_Barkin, you liar! If you care for me, then tell me the truth! _Kimberly glared up at him before turning to her father, who had just approached the two, and was very surprised by her expression. She grabbed his shirt again.

"Father, do something!" She cried, now desperate for support of any kind.

"Kimberly, I have no power in this matter." James replied, pulling her hands away gently. This infuriated Kimberly again.

"You're the Governor!" she exclaimed it like it should be the most obvious thing in the world, clutching fists now. James shrugged somewhat.

"There are limitations to my power," he added calmly, trying to keep her the same way, but it was too late.

She had erupted by now. The anger with her father and The Commodore, from now and over the years, was boiling over. She had absorbed many years of her father's and both generations of Commodore's attitude toward pirates, and it was understandable in those days, but things were different this time! He had saved her! Thief or honest man, whichever he was. But they never would wrap their minds around her ideas and comprehend them for what she saw. They would never see that in every sitch, in every person, pirate or governor, there were shades of gray sometimes, not every case, but this was one of them, Jack was one of them, she just knew it, she didn't understand why, but she had a sense about people sometimes. And yet they were this close to dragging him off to the hangman's noose after preventing her death. Something in that sentence made her farther enraged. All the years of this attitude had finally become too much, and she could hold back no longer. Kimberly took a step forward. Fire and brimstone might as well have shot from her lips.

"Limits? Father, it's not your limits you speak of, the ones you are referring to are mine!" she snapped. James almost gasped at her sudden outburst. " I can not believe you! All you've done for all my life is protect me, from_ everyone_ and _everything_. Now it was all great and wonderful years ago, but truth of the matter, father! I'm not five anymore! I'm twenty! And in case you missed some part of my childhood, I'm well capable of caring for myself!"

"And you!" she turned to Barkin, who remained steadfast in her eye's glare, clearly not as shaken as James. "You're the same way! You think I'm just some girl who can't handle herself, and you believe you have to be my hero, but you're wrong! You just need to get over yourself is what it is!" she then prodded her index finger into his chest, emphasizing her last couple words by poking him. "And if you think that doing all this makes me dislike you any less, you are sadly mistaken, sir!"

To Barkin, she could've stuck a knife through his heart and it wouldn't have made difference. This was how she truly felt? It more of a slap on the face then he had been looking for, and it was painful for him, more painful then splinters in your feet. But he didn't show it, or at least he thought he didn't.

Kimberly seemed to see the hurt in his eyes, but stepped back a ways to face the both of them instead of apologizing.

Jack watched quietly, highly impressed by extreme tongue-lashing she was throwing down at her own father the Governor, and the Commodore of the British Royal Navy. She was fiery for an aristocrat. He liked that in a woman.

"And now you're both doing it again, if not worse then usual!" she continued shakily. "You both think that just because this man is a pirate, he should be taken to prison right after saving a life, _my _life. Well, let me remind you, if he _hadn't_ been there, I would've drowned. Didn't you see that? Does that even matter to you?" Neither answered. She shook her head. "But no. Then Kimberly's safety comes up again, and just because he's a pirate. Because he's a pirate, he shouldn't be trusted, because he's pirate, he should be hanged or shot. Didn't ever both once think right then that, even though he's a pirate, he could still be a good man?" she asked, finishing her speech. Her face was cherry-red.

Jack smirked in amusement at the others shocked expressions, even Lieutenant Gillette, who held Jack's chained arms up, midway through locking them, his mouth agape.

They hadn't thought of that, in fact. It just didn't seem like a very logical notion at the time, to them. And they certainly weren't giving it thought right now; James was utterly shaken by his daughter's words, and Barkin was near heartbroken, although both tried to hide it, and did so very well by this time over. Barkin folded his arms behind his back.

"One good deed if not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness." he countered. Kimberly glared at him deeply, causing him to shutter and recoil. He had never seen this side of her before, much different the composed Kimberly he knew, who _was_ he trying to marry? He did his best to counter again, but she won the battle with her angered snarl.

"Though it seems enough to condemn him," both were surprised to hear Jack speak after all the commotion. He looked at the two very coolly, more so Kimberly, who was closer and usually had her back turned away from him. Gillette pulled away the key from the lock and slipped it into his pocket. Barkin began grimacing at Jack again.

"Indeed," he replied in an annoyed way, glad he would be rid of this man soon. Junior let go of Jack and stepped back into a crowd of soldiers, leaving him alone for just a second.

That was all the time the pirate needed.

Jack had been waiting and planning since the Commodore had cornered him on the docks, waiting like cat who was watching a mouse, the mouse unaware of the cat or the fact that he had seen her, or taken an interest in going after her. A cat must wait for just the right moment before it pounces, as to catch the mouse by surprise, then toy with the creature a bit, and discard of the mouse thoroughly once finished. Jack may have not been feline, but he certainly knew this strategy well, and had working on just how he'd pull it off without getting trouble from the Marines or their pretty boy commodore. They had to get sloppy sooner or later, and it would be one miniscule moment where they would forget to do something or step away from him, loosening their guard on the pirate and leaving opportunity open.

His plan was now fully thought out, his opponent had become unfocused, and his opportune moment had come; his chance at yet another dazing escape had come. Jack had to withhold a smug smile. No, not until he had them where he wanted them. Then he could triumph over and gloat.

"Finally," he muttered. Jack took his chance, and ran up behind the young redhead. In one quick movement, he stuck out his bonded arms, reached over her head, and threw the chain over Kimberly's neck.

She hadn't seen him. So, shocked by the sudden action; she gasped sharply and grabbed at the chain, trying to pull it away, but found that she couldn't. She had no power to break away or fight against him!

Every step Jack took backward; he pulled her farther down the boardwalk, even more power not hers to control. Maybe trusting the pirate wasn't such a good idea after all.

At the sight of this action, several soldiers raised their guns at Jack and Kimberly, more preferably Jack. An already flustered Governor Possible was scared to death now.

"No! Don't shoot!" he called, willing to do anything that would help spare his daughter's life. He almost lost her once today, not again! The soldiers, instead of lowering their weapons, looked to the Commodore, waiting for his orders.

To be honest, Barkin wasn't sure what to do. This hadn't been expected, well, escapes are always to be expected when you arrest a man. But the use of a girl by way of escaping, using Kimberly as a hostage, had not been thought of. This ill begotten exploitation was nothing but deplorable. Barkin couldn't help but feel a pang of anger at himself. Why hadn't he stopped him? He really should've known a pirate like Sparrow would be crafty enough to slip away and do something like this! And yet, he hadn't known this to come. His second failure today, _he was on a roll._

Jack cocked his head and looked at Kimberly with a disgusting smile, she glared back angrily.

"I knew you'd warm up to me," Jack whispered to her, staring at the redhead in a way that she didn't quite like.

Kimberly grimaced. He was no pretty face, to be sure, but his breath was most noticeable when he spoke; it stunk of rum and lack of cleaning, both for many years at most. If she weren't so angry, she might have passed out again.

Jack turned away from her, and to a group of well-armed Navy soldiers, and prepared to take them down quickly. He looked at Barkin.

"Commodore, my effects, please, and my hat!" Jack demanded, looking over Kimberly's shoulder. Barkin was unmoving, hoping they could just shoot Jack down instead, after getting Kimberly away, of course. That was always much easier.

But Jack saw this coming and pulled Kimberly back a bit as a warning; it didn't look like he was going to leave the option of the quick kill open. The pirate looked over redhead's shoulder again.

"Commodore!" he repeated, more sharply this time, pointing at him. There was a determined glint in his eyes that posed threatening.

They had no choice.

Barkin signaled to his men, who reluctantly dropped their muskets. John angrily shook his head, disbelieving that he had let this man walk right into their dock. He should've shot him when he'd had the chance.

Thomas stood in the back of the group, inwardly cursing himself, still holding Jack's things. He knew what he had to do. With a sour face, he coursed his way to the Commodore, and handed him all of the stuff. The Commodore took them carefully, and very solemnly.

Jack watched the scene for a second with smugness, then looked back at the captive redhead.

"Kimberly- It is Kimberly right?" he asked, his foul breath coursing her senses again. She narrowed her olive eyes.

"It's Miss Possible," she gritted between her teeth bravely, trying her best to break eye contact with Jack.

Commodore Barkin approached with Jack's effects. The pirate spoke again.

"Well, _Miss Possible_, if you'd be so kind," he said. Kimberly's eyes widened furiously when she realized what Jack was asking of her. Barkin reached them, holding the requested items and looking quite sorry for himself, for not seeing what Jack was going to try before it was too late, or maybe because of what Kimberly had said to him. Either way, there was a sharp sense of disappointment about the boy.

Jack nodded for Barkin to hand his gear over to Kimberly, seeing that he himself could not hold them.

Barkin sneered at the man before gently pushing each item into Kimberly's arms, an apologetic frown on his face as he looked at her. She took them slowly, looking over each one with the knowledge of what it was and what it did, very rare for a woman of her time.

"Come, come, dear. We don't have all day." Jack said to her impatiently as she took the last few things from the young Commodore. Jack nodded his head, nudging to the young man, signaling him to move. The Commodore carefully stepped back from the two, and back into the crowd. Now all they could do was sit back and wait.

Jack then wheeled Kimberly around by the shoulder, forcing her to face him, the chain now at the back of her neck. He grabbed his pistol from her arms and turned it to her head. She cradled the items as best she could as he did so.

"Now, if you'd be _very_ kind," he spoke, gesturing to the bundle in her arms with a slimy smile.

Kimberly looked down at the stuff, then at Jack, with fury burning in her eyes again. He was asking her to put his stuff on him, for him! She was appalled. This was unacceptable! Kimberly didn't want to! Then she saw the gun at her head.

At once, the young redhead began going through the pile and putting everything in, what she believed was its proper place. She wiggled his hat on over his bandana as good as she believed possible, strapped in his sword, everything, and she was quite good at it to, Jack had to admit.

She wrapped his sash on, and reached over him to secure it, an arm around the pirate. Jack looked over her head, at the almost defeated soldiers, more so eyeing a nerve-wreaked Governor and an angered Commodore. His dark eyes gleamed indigently at them, and he smiled broadly, devilishly, revealing his several gold teeth. _Quite_ good at it.

The Commodore rolled his eyes in frustration, obviously seeing what the pirate was hinting at. Jack only smiled again, and turned back to Kimberly.

"Easy on the goods, darling," he commented as Kimberly pushed the last of the items into his belt. When the final one was in, there was cracking noise, and she was finished. She moved away as best she could, and Jack's draped his arms over her shoulders; they stared at each other for a second.

"You're despicable," she muttered to him bitterly.

"Sticks and stones, love," Jack replied, "I saved your life, you saved mine, we're square."

He turned her back to face the crowd, the pistol at her head; she looked more annoyed now then anything. Jack took a step back, the soldiers followed.

"Gentlemen," he then looked at Kimberly, "milady," he kept backing up farther, toward the end of the dock, with James, Barkin, and the rest of them following his every move. Jack noticed the cargo gantry not far from where he stood, and a cannon upheld by it with a strong rope. He turned back, nearing the dock's edge by now, with an arrogant look on his face. "You will always remember this as the day you _almost_ caught Captain Jack Sparrow!"

With that, he lifted his arms away from Kimberly and shoved her away, pushing her into James and the Commodore, who caught her quickly. He then ran to the end of the dock, grabbed a second rope, and kicked the latch of the gantry. In result, he was sent jolting up toward the pulley.

The soldiers, seeing they could now attack, lunged at him. But he was sent up too quickly. The cannon on the other side of the pulley had been held up by the same rope, so when Jack went up, it went down, plunging into the dock, creating a hole, and causing nearby soldiers to fall down into the water-based crater.

Jack zip-lined up to the top of the pulley, well away from any soldiers. He was safe from them, because this means of escape had caused another problem. Now the second half of the rope was being held in the water by a two ton cannon, so when this happened, Jack's half of the rope, plus his own weight, pulled at the mechanism, causing it to move. _This cannot be good._

Kimberly straightened up, Barkin and her father helping her as best they could. She was just a little dazed from the rush, that was all.

She looked up just in time to see a flailing pirate, as he swung forward, propelled by motion. The wooden piece, meant help sailors move heavy cargo from one part of the deck to the next, began to spin quite unnervingly, taking Jack with it as he held onto his rope for dear life.

It made a round. Jack wobbled as his chained hands clutched the rope; he was watching all of Port Middleton at super speed, going around and around, again and again, the same blurry images. It was getting quite nauseating. It rounded again and his body twisted with a jerk, he screamed loudly as Kimberly, Governor Possible, Barkin, and the others watched from below.

Kimberly was wide-eyed, unsure whether to be impressed, or worried that he would get away.

James had other thoughts on his mind. He looked to Barkin.

"Now will you shoot him?" he asked, almost impatiently. Barkin looked at the Governor, then at the spinning pirate captain.

"Open fire!" he shouted. The armed soldiers raised their guns in alignment with the sky and pulled triggers, letting the sound of twenty firearms echo as the cloudy atmosphere filled with bullets.

Jack rounded again and was suddenly met with a bombardment of musket fire. He screamed again, but shorter then the last for fear of throwing up, he was becoming quite sick.

As luck would have it though, every shot missed. This almost surprised the pirate. As many shots as there were, he was able to dodge every one. This was his typical luck though, always good. That was when he saw the wooden lift a little more then twenty feet from where the gantry stood. Another plan formed. He decided to try and swing out of his ongoing circle; maybe he would get lucky and not end up a spattered mess on the ground.

The firing continued, but Sparrow did not fall. _Impossible,_ Barkin thought.

And as he did so, Jack somehow had managed to swing out from the gantry, the gunfire still upon him. Jack quickly, but very unbalanced, let go of the rope and landed on the top of the slender lift, wavering back and forth on the high beam. Perhaps they had gotten him during the swing? Maybe luck had finally kissed the Commodore's cheek after all.

But, unfortunately, no.

Sparrow was only dizzy, and gained footing quickly. He was escaping! Barkin swore under his breath, then yelled back at his men, his eyes never veered away.

"On his heels!" he called urgently. He raced forward, the soldiers, Kimberly, and the Governor followed at similar speeds.

Jack moved quickly, although his was still a bit off kilter. The pirate knew he had to keep going. Thinking quickly, he carefully tiptoed to the other side of the lift, where a descending rope bridged. He wrapped his chained wrists over the rope, and without another thought, jumped from the lift. He moved quickly down the rope, using the chain to slide without tearing up his hands. The chains, once meant to take him prisoner, were setting him free. Ironic, that's what that was.

Jack moved closer to ground ever gracefully, like a cat. The docks, the people, the cargo all passed his eyes in a flash, not like the nauseating spin of the gantry. It was rather interesting actually. The relaxing sight ended quickly, for the ground was now nearer then before. Jack took this as a good time to get off.

He moved his arms to the left, then slipped his right hand over the rope, letting go and falling a good four feet.

Jack hit the ground running, literally, and took off a break-neck speed, running the rest of the dock and then out into the streets. Several soldiers had been close behind the pirate, and saw him getting away. They immediately evened their muskets with Jack and began shooting.

But he raced across the bridge, the gunfire following him yet again. That was getting a little tedious. Several bystanders screamed and ducked as bullets ricocheted off stones that made up the road and bridge, Jack going passed them all without a scratch. He zoomed on and kept going, right into town.

The firing finally ceased, seeing that they were doing nothing but wasting ammo. The soldiers lowered their guns and run forward, after a speeding Jack Sparrow. The Commodore finally ran up the dock, shook by his defeat, with Gillette right behind him. John and Thomas were not far back either.

Sparrow had escaped. He had duped them, and escaped. Barkin stopped himself before he could go any farther into that trail of thought. _Not here, not yet._ He could mentally beat himself once the pirate was in jail. He turned to Gillette with a stern face.

"Lieutenant, Mr. Sparrow has a dawn appointment with the gallows. I would hate for him to miss it." His tone was like granite, hard and cold, and filled with anger. Gillette saw this, and was surprised, but nodded quickly, then waved at John and Thomas to follow him. They acknowledged, and ran off behind the young Lieutenant.

They, and several others, marched together into the city streets; all keeping an eagle eye open for any signs of the pirate. A few other platoons of soldiers covered several different streets, crawling out of alleys and doorways like trails of ants following the scent of spilled molasses. They swarmed the city of Port Royal, in a desperate search for Jack Sparrow. They wandered the streets in organized runs, searching each house and rooftop, asking each person they passed if they had seen the convict, but none of these actions proved helpful. Sparrow had disappeared, like a ghost, gone, without a trace. Vanished into thin air.

Or so it seemed.

"Search upstairs, look lively, men!"

Jack watched from his hiding place as organized chaos ensued before him. Soldiers ran up and down the streets like cheap wind-up toys, each of their steps in perfect unison, _completely _passing him by and running on, off to search a different side of the city. He had lost them, good! This gave him a chance to find means of escaping this death trap of a town on a _commandeered _ship, and set off for Tortuga as planned. Jack clanked his chained wrists together softly, realizing that the incriminating bonds were still on him. He stopped and thought. Captaining a ship might prove a bit difficult when the captain has manacles on his wrists. It might complicate things in battle, or prove an annoyance when they became caught in the rigging, or make him look like an overall fool in front of crewmates, enemies, and possibly anyone else. The pirate who could never truly shake the British Royal Navy.

This would be a problem.

He concluded that before going a-pirating, he must find a way to get these blasted chains off. He also decided to head into the closest door just for safekeeping, that being the one no more then three feet from him, to his left, in order to find said freedom. Hopefully the shop had some sort of tool or at least something strong enough to break metal.

Another group marched past, muskets at hand. Jack sank into the shadows, and waited for them move away, not that they'd see him anyway. The Navy was getting really lazy these days, they were hiring _anyone_, why, next they'll have woman working as soldiers. Jack pondered this thought for a second, _nah._

Once he was sure it was safe to cross, Jack jumped from his place behind the blacksmith figure and opened the shop door, going inside and closing it without looking back.

Back at Port Royals dockyard

She slowly toggled down the docks, her bare feet moving as though time was freezing over around her. A look of unhappiness on her face, the emotions overflowing in her green eyes and coursing through her sour frown. Her auburn hair was wet and tangled and fell very unflatteringly around her face, brushing over her shoulders and sticking onto her cheeks. The white skirt of her underdress flicked out with every step she took, also soaked with water and dripping most of it onto the dock.

She held her father's coat over her shoulders; tightly grasping the navy blue fabric to conceal the warmth she couldn't keep a steady balance of. The winds kept getting stronger and colder, as shadowy clouds doubled in size and became black as tar, bringing a sense of nighttime upon the island. She shivered lightly as the wind sifted through the treads of the coat, then she pulled it from her shoulders and slipped her arms into the sleeves, pulling the coat onto her back. She pulled the first gold button into a small hole in the fabric and let her arms drop; the sting of the cold was still constant, but not as strong. This would do until she reached the mansion.

The young woman wasn't sure what to think as she left the docks. Too much for one day, and her mind was too cluttered for her to concentrate on one subject. There was nothing she could say that would sum up the day's events, not in one sentence, anyway.

No, strike that. There was one word she think of that would be a perfect example of today…

Complicated.

From the moment she'd woken up, that's what the day had been.

Complicated.

When father gave her the dress to wear for the ceremony, at which Commodore Barkin proposed to her.

Complicated.

When her best friend showed up on her doorstep, only to not show the same feelings she believed, and hoped him, to have.

Complicated.

When she was rescued by a fearless pirate whom she had heard so much about, only to have the British Royal Navy arrest him. Then Jack Sparrow, the pirate who had saved her and inspired her for so many years, suddenly wheeled around and took her for hostage as a way to save his own skin from the noose.

Complicated! Complicated! Complicated!

She stopped right then, and looked around the dock to make sure no one was watching her. To the left, to the right. Then shifted her cold hand inside her coat, and pulled the gold medallion from her neck, she undid the clasp, slipped the chain over her red hair, and grasped the entire trinket in one hand, the chain dripped through her fingers, and the gold coin clutched in her hand like it had been so many years before.

Once her beloved treasure and secret, now more of a mystery then it had ever been, and posing more threatening then fascinating. For a moment she was back in her dream. Years of holding onto something she'd had taken out of false belief, and she was never sure why she never returned it to him. Her only true friend, and she had stolen from him the day they met. She was ashamed of this, and it dug at her sometimes, but she never meant to steal from Ron, only to save him, from death, because Senior would've never believed the boy's claims of not participating in piracy had the crew of the _Dauntless _seen the medallion.

But now she knew why she kept it, because of today. There was something different… something more about the medallion. Something deeper rooted then she understood. What it was, she couldn't answer yet, but she knew it had done something that had changed the course of her path. She felt it.

The medallion had put many questions in her head before. As a child, she would sit up hours after the house was dark and everyone was asleep, a lit candle at her bedside, she would pull out her favorite pirate book and the medallion, and slipping the trinket around her neck, she would spend sleepless nights paging through her favorite stories, pretending she was on the ship, fighting along side her favorite characters, real or fictional, silently reading to herself until the house maid, making her last, late night round, saw the candle light from under her door. Reading was a talent very rarely found in anyone, much less a twelve-year-old girl, but mother had insisted upon it.

Eight Years Earlier

"But dear, it's not known for a young woman to… to-" her father sputtered. Lady Anne Possible raised her hand gently.

"James, I do not care what popular society thinks about it! Now it doesn't matter who you get, but someone out there must be willing to teach her to read and write like anyone else at her status in society. And know this, Kimberly deserves to have a proper education as much as any man does." Anne's voice was demanding, but clear and careful at the same time. James took in a breath, and with a sigh, his expression loosened to an unsure frown.

"Well… I'm not sure…" he began to say. Anne quickly pulled out her secret weapon. Folding her hands together and tilting her head, she twisted her face into the most unbelievable expression. Her bottom lip puckered and jiggled as though she was about to break down crying, and her eyes grew large and sad.

James took one look and squirmed uncomfortably, trying to ignore the strange, but unavoidable, tactic she always used against him. No wonder she almost always got her way in the house, and even though he was the man, and leader, of his family.

He couldn't help but feel a sudden change of heart for the subject. He loved his wife, and everything she did, too much to treat her like other men would treat their women. James was a man of respect, a family man, and Anne was a smart woman, defiantly ahead of her time, but amazing nonetheless, and he believed she deserved to be treated as such. _And so does Kimberly,_ James added in thought. His expression softened completely, into a gleaming smile. He opened his arms wide and chuckled.

"Oh, how could I say no to you?" he said brightly. Anne broke her saddened face into a beautifully gracious grin; her eyes brightened once again, and she threw herself onto her husband, wrapping her arms around his neck, she lightly kissed him on the mouth. When they pulled away a second later, James smiled warmly, amused by his wife's reaction, glad that she was happy.

Anne slipped her arms off his shoulders and coiled them around his arm lovingly as the pair left the parlor room with smiles. Her husband looked down at her with an expression so filled with curiosity, Anne knew at once, from the point that she noticed he was watching her, that he was going to question her on something.

"What do you call that trick again?" he asked with a hint of delight in his voice. Anne looked up at him with a proud and sly smirk, then turned her head forward as they exited through the wood carved doorway.

"The Puppy Dog Pout." she answered plainly, but her voice sparking with pride. James just laughed heartily; so much that Anne began to laugh as well. By the time Kimberly had emerged from her hiding place behind the large, parlor door, her parents' laughter could be heard along each wall, echoing throughout every corridor with wide magnification.

The young Possible daughter smiled to herself as she watched them, so happy, so meant for each other, her parents were truly made a great team, and she smiled even wider, because she knew it was all because of her parents that she would be learning how to read very soon.

Present Day

Kimberly lingered on the memory a bit longer, remember how the door's redwood edge felt under her small fingers, how the hallway smelled of ham and cherry pie as the scents wafted from the kitchen a floor above, the sounds of her parents unified laughter mixed with the sound of birds chirping outside the window, building a small nest for their oncoming family, reminding her of how her parents did such things for her, like building a nest, so she would do better and live longer in the world. She tried to hold on to the glorious moment just a second more before opening her eyes and looking down at the medallion once again, dragging her back down to the cold reality she was left to face alone once again. She wanted that place in time back, when the medallion was nothing more then her secret to keep and souvenir from her first, real encounter with pirates, when life seemed simple and worry-free, without all the problems she'd been handed as an adult. But now, she was faced with the reality of being her age, filled with proposals of marriage, money issues, and worrying over her image in the public's eye. Part of growing up a governor's daughter, she was sure, but why did growing up have to be so hard?

This trail of thought brought her back to her medallion wondering. Like I said before, it had put many questions in her head before. But there, one that hurdling day at the docks, Kimberly had found the most puzzling, mysterious question the trinket had brought her in a long time.

Why _did _Jack Sparrow recognize her medallion?

She kept playing that moment back again inside her head, that wide-eyed look of recognition that appeared on his face when he caught sight of it around her neck, then retelling all the stories she had heard about Sparrow, cross-referencing the medallion to each one. None of the elements connected, none of them! Perhaps she was forgetting something, one of the stories she had heard about Sparrow in the past.

Her mind was abuzz and the answers, unknown, Kimberly felt as though she had reached a fork in the road, with the medallion as her compass. And the direction she took depended upon whether she kept her compass, or dropped it where she stood, leaving her little secret behind forever.

Something told her she _should_ leave it behind and go left, where she could continue her masquerade as a proper young lady, marry Steven Barkin, and spend the rest of her days serving as a silent and pretty young wife to the esteemed Commodore, any man who took Governor Possible's daughter as his bride would surely have quite the reputation on the island, she thought. A little voice inside spoke, and said that it would be best, _for everyone around you, you're endangering them by holding onto that thing, Father, Gillette, Mother, even Ronald, everyone, let go of the accursed thing before it causes more trouble. _

Yet her heart, her inner adventurer, said otherwise. And kept nagging her on to the right, where the unknown and the answers to all of questions, and her freedom, awaited her. Where everything she wanted and dreamed was there for her. _The world before you, the wind in your face, and no ties to anyone! Isn't that what you've always wanted? Not this pompous life you've been handed, you want to scream, and shout, and live like you've never lived before! The medallion is your ticket to freedom! Do you want to lose that?_

The decision was more difficult then anything she'd done yet. There she was, stuck between a life's desire and the people she knew and cared for, and once she chose, that was it. No turning back, she either kept the medallion or she didn't.

Kimberly looked around the darkening world of Port Royal, at the shadowy clouds as the formed and rumbled above her. At the large British flag flapping in the high winds from its spot atop a nearby mast. At the elderly couple as they raced inside their house for shelter from the storm. Then she looked back down at the medallion with confusion and uncertainty in her eyes, the only thing that had allowed her to connect to her pirate dreams, a bookmark of one of the most memorable days of her life, reminding of the fear, danger, but friendship she gained years before, but then the problems and confusion it caused today.

She had to choose now, or be left standing on the dock forever.

James Possible slowly made his way past his daughter; his manner very stiff, quiet and deep in thought, he kept himself standing straight and his step well paced, like a true gentlemen. He bumped Kimberly's right shoulder unintentionally, breaking her attention for a second; she looked up and watched as her father walked back up the dock. At first it didn't seem like much, then the realization came, she looked again, her eyes filled with surprise. He was leaving _without her? _

Wait, something wasn't right about that. He would never, never leave anywhere without knowing Kimberly was coming too, or telling her that it was time to leave, he loved her too much to do something like leave her alone somewhere, and especially after what happened today, where she'd expected her father to have at least five escorts awaiting her to take to the _carriage_. But no, nothing of that manner, very unexpected, very unlike him. _Time to get some answers!_

"Father!" she called, suddenly picking up her pace and running behind him. As soon she within close range of his persona, she reached out her arm and placed her hand on James' shoulder, hoping to catch his full attention.

And she did. James Possible turned around very slowly, facing Kimberly with an expression that caused her to fall back several steps in flabbergasted shock, he suddenly bought back the memory of her mother on that fine day in the parlor. Her father staring at her the same way Mother had stared at him, with such hurt in his eyes, such a solemn frown that brought down several once unnoticed wrinkles on his cheeks and revealed them perfectly. It was the best example of the Puppy Dog Pout she had seen in a long time, but Father wasn't using it as a tool, he wasn't faking, this was real, honest pain he was bearing. Perhaps the most heartbroken face she'd ever seen him with. Kimberly, placing a hand on her heart, took a moment before regaining her ability to speak, then brushed a red lock of hair from her eyes and asked:

"Father…" she sputtered, though she had hoped to sound less surprised, "is something… wrong?" Her question came out in pieces, for this face he wore was most unlike her father, such a happy and bright man he was, even when he didn't feel that way, he still put on a smile for his family and the public. But he wasn't even pretending this time; his sadness was front and foremost when Kimberly looked at him.

James didn't speak to her for a long moment. Then let out an exasperated, lengthy sigh, breathing out for what like forever to Kimberly. He looked to her with the most heart-wrenching glint in his gray eyes, causing Kimberly an uncomfortable twitch in her stomach.

"Kimberly," James spoke, lowering his head, eyes closed tight. "Do you…" he turned away from her again, having too much trouble saying what wanted to her directly. He opened his eyes and felt tears suddenly begin to flow, so he shut them again. Fighting back the lump in his throat, he tried to finish the sentence. "Do you… do you… hate me?"

Kimberly was taken aback. She placed a hand on her father's shoulder. "Father, never! I could never hate you! How could you imagine such a thing?"

He looked to Kimberly with the same, sad ache on his heart, and regaining some of his lost composer, he tried to turn his expression serious, stern, and harder then he felt.

"It's just," he began, "I got a feeling that you thought I was…" his strength failed him, and his face fell back to a saddened frown. "Overbearing," he finished with another heavy sigh.

Kimberly took a moment to process what she was hearing. How could Father come up with such outlandish ideas as that? How could he think that she thought of him, hated him, in that way?

But she did feel that way about her father's overprotective attitude, and that made this conversation an issue. She had never told anyone about her angry feelings toward his unwillingness to let her live her own life, not even her mother knew about it. If Mrs. Possible had ever had a thought about her daughter's outlook, it wasn't in her knowledge. Those were private thoughts that belonged to the young Possible and her alone.

"_Not anymore…" _snickered the little voice, giggling inside Kimberly's head.

Then it all came to her, then she remembered, taking the information with a shock. She wasn't alone in her thoughts; she had shared them unwittingly!

With all the _attention _she had received from Jack, and all the excitement that ensued afterward, she had completely forgotten about her little temper tantrum that she'd thrown against her father and the Commodore, the bashing she'd brought down on James' parenting techniques and the heartbreak she had used to run Barkin through and through. Now it made sense, now she understood why father looked so sad, she had hurt him, his own daughter, and she had crushed him! What had she done? What had she said to him? Everything from the conversation was a blur, all she remembered the boiling rage she felt because they were taking Sparrow away. _Big mistake,_ she thought to herself, _I should've let them take him, I should've just left it alone!_ She was never supposed to say those things to him; they were the words that she had expected to keep within her own mind, not shout them to the heavens when anger met with passion. Why couldn't she control herself?

Kimberly felt her heart plunge two feet in her chest, as she looked her father straight in the eyes, her own olive orbs widened and were put at the brink of tears. She had wounded her own father! She didn't mean to destroy him that way; she never wanted to hurt him ever!

"Father, you must understand… I… you… I couldn't have… shouldn't have… I didn't mean…" Kimberly stuttered, but she just couldn't find the right words to apologize. He deeply cared for her, and she had slammed him for it, how does one say sorry correctly after an event like that?

The young aristocrat reached out to her father, trying to send a sign that she still cared for him, but James only shifted away and turned his back on her, still upset and too pained to speak. Kimberly understood his reaction and slowly recoiled her hand, slipping it around her waist and hugging herself, rocking her body gently. He had right to be angry with her, he had the right after what she had told him today, she had crushed him in front of the Royal Navy. He should be angry for what she did, it didn't matter to her anyway, she felt too guilty to let it matter.

But Governor Possible was not angry, just hurt, hurt that so many years had gone by, and Kimberly had never told him these things before, hurt that she felt this way, though he had always suspected something different about her personality, hurt that his attempts to protect his young had only caused the rift between them to grow. No, he was not happy about the whole predicament, but he could never be angry with his own daughter, he cared about her too much. They would talk about all this at home, though.

James looked back Kimberly from over shoulder, his head moving very slowly. He watched as she hugged herself. She must've felt awful after all this, he figured. _Maybe turning away wasn't the greatest idea._ Maybe talking about it now would be better.

He turned himself around completely, and motioned like he going to say something to the young girl. But when he opened his mouth to speak, all that came out was a small choking sound. James cursed himself inwardly for this. He couldn't do it! He could not conjure the right words to explain the lifetime of lies the two had weaved to each other. He closed his mouth again, seeing if he could think up anything helpful to say. He strained his head and brainstormed for two minutes before giving up due to an oncoming migraine. No help there either.

James pressed a hand to his forehead and straightened up his back a little. What could he say to help? What?

He grunted softly before speaking.

"Come along, Kimberly. The carriage is waiting." He spoke solemnly. These were the only words he could come up with. He gave her a gentle stare in the eyes before wheeling around and walking away in the opposite direction.

Kimberly looked up at her father and sighed heavily, yet another problem laid down in her life's path. Perfect. She was about to take a dragging step forward and follow, when she realized something heavy and cold was still in her hand. She gazed down into her palm; the medallion was still clutched between her fingers as it had been before her father came, her decision on it still pending. _Not anymore_, she thought, positioning her hand above her head, as though she were about to throw the medallion into the shallow waters surrounding her. If the disaster and mayhem, which she could tolerate, was what fueled this choice, then the pain she had caused her own father was what gave it the stamp of approval. As much as she loved the old thing, she knew that it was playing some sort of part in her story that she didn't want it to play, a gut feeling told her that it had a place in the day's roughness, and nine out of ten times, her gut was right. As many happy moments it had brought her, if her passion for the secrets it harbored was going to ruin the lives of loved ones, it wasn't worth the trouble of keeping.

She swung back her arm in the position of a catapult, the medallion raised high in the air, its metal chain swinging off her hand and onto her wrist. Her face was clenched in anger, but also disappointment. She was losing her favorite treasure and everything it meant to her, all because of a near crazed theory that it was bad luck to keep it. She lowered her hand a little, remembering all the happy moments she had shared with the little trinket, then the voice returned.

_Stop it,_ chimed the proper voice from before, _throw the blasted thing into the water! Believe me, the thing is evil! Look what's happened in times you'd had it. Sunken ships, pirates, you nearly drowned, then were taken hostage, and all those horrible things you said to your father and the Commodore. The medallion caused all that! It's all its fault!_

With these thoughts running though her mind, Kimberly's hesitation dissipated completely. It was all the medallion's fault! She lurched her hand backward, then sped for the nearest edge to the dock. With a silent grunt, she stopped where the wood planks ended, and was about to release the medallion from her grasp, sinking it to the bottom of the ocean where she thought it would do no more harm. When all of the sudden…

"Kimberly! The carriage is leaving! Now!"

There was a sharp pulse inside Kimberly's hand, surging down her arm, into her chest, and all the way down to her toes. The young woman froze in her spot at end of the dock, staring back at her father, who was waiting impatiently, comfortably seated inside their black carriage, which was parked at the end of the boardwalk, the driver tapping his foot in an annoyed way.

Kimberly watched them for a short second, confused. She looked down at the water.

For some strange reason, she couldn't remember what she'd been doing before all this. Last thing, she was going to talk with her father, but how did he get to the carriage? Why was she standing over the dock? Why was her medallion hanging over the water? She couldn't remember why. Had she blacked out? She'd never blacked out before. Kimberly scratched her chin gently. How much time had it been since her last memory? Why had she forgotten? Had she forgotten?

She pondered it a little more as she ran back to the carriage, her father opening the door for her as she jumped inside, seating herself next to him carefully and giving him a small smile. The driver let out a soft "finally," and cracked his whip a bit sharper then intended. The horses took off, causing the carriage to jolt, sending the Possible's backwards in their seats.

Kimberly straightened up after a moment, smoothing out her underdress and hair, feeling the carriage slow down a bit from the speed of the launch. As James sat up in his own seat and fixed his wig, Kimberly pulled her arm out and looked at the gleaming medallion still clutched in her palm. She suddenly got the feeling of deja vu, like she'd done this before, recently, but she couldn't remember the exact time. The missing few minutes of her life was causing quite a pickle. She hooked the chain back around her neck and placed the medallion on her chest.

Another pulse in her body, this time from her heart. She cringed and put her hand on her ribs. What was that? She'd felt it right after father had called for her, now again here. It was most strange, and she couldn't explain where in was coming from. She grabbed the medallion again, lifting it to her face. It looked different for some reason, though she couldn't place the change.

She rubbed the gold between her fingers and pondered back on the pulse. Perhaps she hadn't quite gotten her land legs regained since the near drowning she had faced, or all the water hadn't pumped out of her system, though Kimberly very much doubted it. She leaned back in her seat and gazed down at the medallion, trying to ignore the tingling sensation as it ran up and down her body, numbing her toes and fingers every now and again.

After a few minutes, the strange sensation wore off again.

Jack entered the building with his sword drawn, prepared to take anyone who tried to stop him. Fortunately, he would not have to cut one person down that day, the place was empty. Jack sheathed his sword and took in his surroundings with keen eyes.

It was the main room of the shop, perhaps the only room. Nothing fancy, in fact its wooden walls, hay covered floors, and small working donkey made it look like a common barn. The only difference was the various weapons hanging on walls, laying on workbenches, and set on every other nook and cranny within the room. Swords, rapiers, axes, knives, and all manner of sharp implement. A boiling furnace was situated in the far corner, another sword set along its coals. He also saw that working tools, hammers and anvils, were set among the weapons.

Jack realized that he was in a blacksmith shop.

What luck! This was perfect, all he needed to get free was right here!

Jack was overjoyed with this lucky turn out, but concealed it, and quickly went on to the task of releasing himself. He walked down the steps, into the workshop and lazily set his hat across the nearest small anvil.

He looked around the room, at every sharp blade and boarding axe, but shook his head; even those were too dull to cut through something like metal. He looked to the furnace and thought, picking up a large sledgehammer. He could try to heat the handcuffs up, then hit them, they might break then. But at the cost of his wrists, which would be badly burned and blister-covered. Jack grimaced at the thought. That would be a pain to treat. He didn't want to risk it.

A sudden snore caught Jack by surprise, causing him to jump. He wasn't alone after all! He wheeled around, and lifted the hammer above his head as he looked into the far, right corner of the room.

A little man, sitting in the small, hay crammed corner, his legs folded into a hung sleepily at his sides pose. He was old and a bit of a drinker, from what Jack could tell based on the empty rum bottle held in his hand. He had a beard and whiskers that made his mouth invisible, and was in standard blacksmith apparel with a horse hide apron and thick leather boots.

There was another snore and the old man's beard bristled. Jack lowered his hand, surprised and relieved at the same time. The man was asleep, and it seemed that he had not heard Jack come in. Strange considering all the noise, in here and out there.

Jack would've, _usually_ would've, left it alone there and gone back to his own business. But he had to be sure his was safe. He couldn't help but wonder, just how much it would take to wake the old man.

Jack quietly tiptoed over to the sleeping elder. Observing him for a second, he poked him in the chest several times forcing him to drop the bottle. Jack stopped. The man still slept. Jack nodded, shrugged, then turned away and began walking off, only to turn back seconds after and shout.

"Whoa!" His voice echoed throughout the room, startling the donkey. After a moment, he took a step back and grimaced in surprise.

Still asleep.

Jack sighed in relief. The old man was either the deepest sleeper, or dead. Jack couldn't tell the difference at this point, nor did he really care. Oh well, back to business.

He turned away, and lifted the sledgehammer again, he pondered on it for a second, twisting his mouth around from side to side. An idea suddenly formed. Maybe, just maybe, it could work without the heating.

Jack then quickly raced over to an anvil. He set the chain link onto it, a wrist on either side, and the hammer in his right hand. Once he was sure the chain was perfectly straight, he raised his arm and brought the hammer down with a clang, but it missed. The chain had moved when he had tried to hit it. Jack set it up again, bringing down the hammer, but once more, it met with the anvil instead. Jack grew frustrated, and set it yet again. _Clang! Clang! Clang!_

Jack struck the anvil three more times before setting the hammer down on the anvil, then bringing his chained wrists to his face, jangling them together in anger. That hadn't worked quite as well as hoped. His face filled with annoyance, he gritted his teeth, just about ready to toss his bonds into the boiler, swearing and screaming.

And then, in that moment of pure irritation, Jack saw his next means of escape through the links of the chain.

A large, train of machinery, made up of greasy, rusted metal and enormous, spaced cogs and wheels. It surprised Jack that he hadn't seen it upon entry, the massive bulk that it was. It took up most of the room. But he was glad he had found it we he had, because yet another plan had already begun to form. All that was needed was to start up this hunk of metal, but however one was supposed to do this, he did not know. _But it can't be that hard, just follow the machine and look for anything that resembles an 'ON button', so to speak_. Not difficult at all, or Jack hoped at least.

His eyes carefully scanned the machine all the way to the far wall, where the donkey stood. No switches, levers, pulleys, or anything that resembled them. So, this monstrosity was not activated by machinery. _Then what? _Jack thought. He walked over to the donkey, as to look at the machine from another perspective, and that's when he saw it for the first time, the ON button! It _was _the donkey! The donkey was hooked up to a wheel, a wheel _that was connected to the rest of the machine._ Jack's luck hadn't run out yet. _Now, _he thought, _how to motivate the power source to start up?_

Jack walked over to the furnace, knowing just what he was looking for. And found the motivation sitting on the coals. Not only was a sword there, but something else, and just what he'd been hoping would be there.

A high whistle came off the branding rod as he grabbed by its cool handle and lifted it from the fire. It was a normal metal rod, to say the least, except for the brand tip that was marked 'JB', and orange, glowing with heat. Jack looked at the tip carefully, keeping it a good few inches from his face not wanting it too close, for he could feel the warmth radiate off the rod. He smirked in delight. This was perfect. His eyes darted toward the animal.

There was a sight sizzle, and the donkey's eyes widened. He let out a loud cry, then, as animal instinct told him to, he tried to run away, but being tied to a giant wheel prevented him from escaping Jack, who twirled the burning rod in his hand, making it whistle again. The donkey became so frightened, yet he could not go anywhere.

The machine suddenly came to life. The cogs began spinning and wheels began turning. The room filled with the most ear wrenching noises, clicking and clanking and occasional high-pitched, sweet whistle. It was amazing that the old man remained asleep.

Jack hooked the chain link between the two spaces in a horizontal cog. He followed it as it moved in a circle, and waited. And it paid off. A vertical cog above Jack's suddenly collided with his, one of its rectangular points pressured down on the chain, which sat in the space where it was supposed it fit. Soon a second point set on the chain, the link blocking its place as well, the strain building between the two differing metals.

When the giant cog finally rounded, there was a clinking sound, and the two cogs snapped the chain in half.

Jack pulled his wrists away and admired his newfound freedom with a proud smile. No one kept Jack Sparrow bound! He shook his wrists, still feeling some pressure in his arms, jingling the chains in harmony. He looked at both wrists, the manacles were still there, but they were separated now, and this gave him a good bit more choices of movement. He would escape from this town much easier now; he'd be gone by sundown at the least. He sighed; at last, something was going right for him today.

A sudden new sound, a _creak,_ alerted Jack from his celebration. He looked up from his arms and to the front of the shop, he froze, his dark eyes widened, searching, waiting carefully for any signs of movement.

The hinges of the main door squeaked again as the wooden blockade was automatically raised and the double doors were opened slowly. A young man entered the building, dapperly dressed, his blond hair tied back tight, he looked through the door with a tired, perplexed expression in his chocolate eyes. Jack held his breath, as far as he could tell, the young man had not seen him yet, but it was not a good thing for a pirate to linger here much longer with someone of this boy's stature moping around. A friend of the Commodore's, no doubt, probably sent to search for him and bring him in.

_Not today_, Jack thought. His eyes darted around the room, then sped out of sight in a random direction, off to hide somewhere until this youth gave up his hunt.

Ron was relocking the shop door when he noticed all the commotion inside the blacksmith shop. He had just come back from delivering a specially ordered sword at the Possible's manor. The distance between the upper crust house and the grimy part of town he worked in had a difference of several miles, making the walk home long and tedious, and taking him three hours to complete. The afternoon had worn on a bit by the time he reached town again, leaving him sweaty and tired, glistening like a cooked pig. His once pristine hair was coming out of his brown, makeshift tie in several places.

He was just glad to be home, not only because of the long traveling miles, but all of the drama that he'd faced at the Possible household. The Governor's comments, the broken candle, the sword, his pants, and, of course, Kimberly. He couldn't stop thinking about their meeting; he couldn't stop thinking about _her_. She had been his only friend when he arrived in Port Royal, alone, afraid, and an orphan. And her family had helped him and loved him like their own son, housed and fed him until he found a job of his own, until he moved on to live with the blacksmith, and learned to become one. Ron had always believed he was welcomed and loved by the Possible daughter, despite the differences between them, including public status.

And then they grew up, and things changed. Kimberly became very stiff and serious over the years, taking after her aristocratic, British heritage, losing some of the fun, fiery attitude he liked about her. No doubt Kimberly's father would be trying to marry his daughter off soon, now that she was twenty. That was fairly old, considering most woman married much younger. She would probably end up with some rich ambassador or a tight Naval officer. Ron dug into that idea somewhat, and somehow he couldn't picture Kimberly living with, much less marrying to, someone like that without injuring the poor guy. Would she? He didn't know much about her anymore. There was more distance between them then there ever had been before, he could feel it.

Even when he got into town, more drama. Apparently, some pirate was caught at the dock, as Steven Barkin informed him. He didn't like Barkin, not in the slightest, but listened anyhow. Jack Sparrow, wasn't it? Yes, that was right. When Ron heard about events involving Kimberly, his heart skipped a beat. That Sparrow character had taken her hostage! Ron inwardly cursed the man, had he been there, that pirate wouldn't have gotten away with it. At once, he began asking questions of Kimberly's well being, to which Barkin replied that she was 'shaken up' by the incident, but seemed to be in good health from what he saw.

Ron shook his head. He didn't want to think about all that now, not anymore, not today. Right now, he just wanted to relax.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the machine had been activated, squalling and squeaking and wheeling around in the noisiest manner. The donkey was running in his small circle at a rapid pace, a frantic look in his big, black eyes as he turned the wheel and kept whole shop abuzz with sound, keeping the machine in movement.

Ron quickly jumped the two steps that descended into the workshop and ran over to his donkey. Getting on his knees, Ron came down to where his eyes met with the animal's, and gently, he began stroking his gray muzzle, muttering a few calming words into his ear. The donkey stopped at sight of his loving owner, overjoyed to have finally been rescued. He settled into Ron's grasp, braying softly. With the power source at a halt, the machine began to slow.

Ron smoothed the hairs on the donkey's nose a couple more times before looking up; making sure that the monstrosity above him was stopping. Once the last cog made its final spin, Ron stood up and scratched him behind the ears once more time. He'd have to give him some extra feed tonight for all his troubles.

_Something must've spooked him_, he figured as he walked over to the end of the room, taking off his heavy, yellow coat and slipping it over his arm. He breathed out thankfully. That thing was hot, and itchy! How did the aristocrats wear that stuff all day?

Beginning to unbutton his vest, Ron stopped in front of the sleeping, old man who sat in his little corner. His workmanship master, the person who had taught him everything he knew about wielding and blacksmith work. The person who had been his guide through the years, his friend. His… what word was he looking for? Ron smiled.

His quote unquote father.

"Right where I left you," he said to the sleeping Mr. Brown, who remained undisturbed, amazingly. Ron couldn't help but softly laugh at this before walking off. He wanted to slumber like that. Ron was working on the last button and suddenly yawned, he laughed again.

He might _actually_ sleep like that tonight, as tired as he was. With a sigh, he reminisced on his job, his hope sinking. He would probably be up late, again, working. He still had a few orders to fill.

As he approached the larger anvil within the shop, his expression turned a bit bewildered. Something wasn't right. Ron tilted his head like a confused puppy as he looked down at the flat, metal surface. He tossed his coat aside and walked closer, getting a better look at this change.

Set sideways on the anvil was his sledgehammer.

Ron stared blankly at the hammer for a moment, confused. He was sure; completely and honestly sure, that his sledgehammer had not been there when there he'd left that morning. A good blacksmith would never leave his tools out in such a careless manner! Okay, Ron did it every now and again, but only when he was extremely tried out after a long day.

He thought back to that night, remembering hanging up the hammer before trailing off to bed at an early hour of the morning.

Something was wrong here.

"Not where I left you." Ron muttered, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

Gazing down at the hammer a little more, out of the corner of his eye, something of another change caught Ron's attention. He turned his head from the anvil to his right, toward the worktable. A strange, dull brown, lumpy tricorne hat had been placed amongst his tools, sat along a smaller anvil. Ron shifted his head and raised an eyebrow. _That's not mine, _he thought. Somebody had left it there, which meant somebody had been, and might still be, in his shop. Customers? Thieves? Ron suddenly felt a pang a fear hit his chest at the thought of thieves, or worse, pirates, lurking around. If they were still in his shop…

Ron forced the fear back down, telling himself to remain calm. He brushed a loose hair back into place. He couldn't immediately suppose that there was any sort of thief here, it might have been a customer. Ron took a deep breath. A customer who came while he was out, looked around a little, frightened the donkey, messed with his hammer, and forgot his tricorne here before leaving. _Yeah, that makes sense, _Ron thought, more sarcastically then comforting. He couldn't help himself; he was too frightened to think otherwise.

Sighing gently, he twisted his mouth up in a knot, unsure what to do next. This hat had to belong to _someone, _and his shop was only so big, so whoever it was that had been here, had to be gone now, unless they were hiding. For what reason they would be hiding, Ron didn't know or understand. Nothing could be confirmed from fact or fiction, because all the proof he had of a visitor, friendly or foe, was a misplaced hammer and an unfamiliar hat. Perhaps he was being foolish, he could've very well accidentally left the hammer out in his varied moments of carelessness, and the hat…

Okay, so he couldn't quite explain why that dirty tricorne was on his worktable or how it had gotten there, but there had to be a reason for it! Hats don't just jump up and walk into blacksmith's shops. Ron looked down at it again, his eyes narrowing once more. With his right hand, he reached down for it. He figured that if this hat had an owner, he might find some trace of him inside it, a name, an address, and lock of hair would even prove useful, and the hat did, but not in a way he wanted.

Ron was a half-inch away from touching the hat when he felt a cold metal sting as the flat of a sword slapped the back of his hand. He recoiled in panic and surprise, but kept his hand under the sword, fearing that its handler might slice it off at the wrist. His breathing had turned heavy as he searched the shadows from which the sword protruded. He could not find the face of his attacker; only a hairy, suntanned arm was of visibility, the hilt clutched in grubby fingers, fingernails darkly colored and dirt filled. A broken maniacal hang from the wrist, its chain snapped in half. Ron swallowed the urge to scream as he realized he was in the presence of a criminal.

Jack emerged from his corner within moments, a stiff and grunt expression locked into his eyes as he held the cutlass level with the young boy, a look that told Ron he may not make it out of this alive. The man's scruffy hair, tattered clothes, sun burnt face, kohl-rounded, dark eyes, and the salty, sea water scent that wafted up from his body reminded the young man of the sailors had had seen at the dock. This was no normal sailor though, Ron thought as he remembered his meeting with Barkin.

He took a step backward, slipping his hand away from the sword and to his side. Jack strode forward, following Ron, his sword pointed at the boy's chest. With each step he took back, Jack took one forward. Ron clutched a fist and put on his bravest face.

"You're the one they're hunting," he spoke in realization, putting his right foot behind him. His surprise melted away as he gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. "The pirate." he spat the word like a curse.

Jack had backed Ron up to the center of the shop when he stopped pursuing the boy, his sword still raised. He looked Ron straight in the face, curiosity and wonderment filling his own. The brown eyes, the messy, blonde hair, even his snarl. Where had Jack seen this boy? He seemed… memorable in some, strange way. Jack could picture his face as clearly as a glass bottle, but couldn't quite remember when or where, or what event the boy connected to. He must've been drunk at the time, whatever time that'd been. He cocked his head sideways.

"You seem somewhat familiar. Have I threatened you before?" he asked quickly, his dark eyes questioning Ron as they gleamed hazily.

Ron ignored the question, figuring the old blackheart had taken in too much rum on a stop at the local tavern. His eyes narrowed farther as he spoke, glaring at Jack with a rigid expression. "I make a point of avoiding familiarity with pirates."

Jack's sword wavered around Ron's nose. The pirate swung his head back and looked at him, his eyes wide. "Ah, well, then it would be a shame to put a black mark on your record," he said, nodding as he lowered his sword, figuring this meant he could get away clean without problems from the boy. He turned around, facing the worktable again. "So, if you'll excuse me..." He reached over to grab his hat.

Ron quickly spun around, stretching his arm out to the hanging rack that encircled a large beam; he used it to hold his finished swords. He firmly gripped a gold and sliver entwined hilt, pulled it from the metal rack, and produced his own sword, swinging it forward and striking it out at Jack.

At the sound of the slivery _cling_, Jack turned around, sighing exasperatingly as Ron's blade came within three feet of his persona. How many times was going to have a sword pointed at his face today? He saw Ron's youthful determination and recklessness, and he smirked, raising an inquiring, taunting eyebrow. He began approaching the boy again, but this time, Ron didn't back away. He planted his feet, curling his fingers around the sword tightly. A look of such fury filling his once frightened face. Jack moved his sword to his side defensively, clutching it as Ron had.

"Do you think this wise, boy- crossing blades with a pirate?" He questioned, amused by Ron's brave attempt.

The young blacksmith raised his sword so the hilt was level with his face, the grating sneer still locked into his eyes. He licked the inside of his mouth before speaking. "You threatened Miss Possible," his words came in a dark and hostile manner, as if he were trying to avenge the wrongdoing the pirate had brought to his friend. He breathed in, waiting for the next move.

In response, Jack raised his own sword, but instead of attacking, as Ron thought he would, the pirate ran his blade across the flat of his opponent's, causing a scratchy, filing noise to escape from their blades and vibrate through their ears. Ron took a step backward, overwhelmed by the sound and the event. Jack soon removed his sword from Ron's and held it up next to his dirty face, a taunting look in his eyes. He smirked again.

"Only a little." he muttered, as if telling a joke. This only angered Ron farther.

They readied their swords. The fight had begun.

Jack advanced upon Ron, making a simple swipe at his leg. Ron blocked the move, quickly sweeping his own blade and stopping his adversary's. Jack moved from the parry and struck again, this time for the boy's head. Another parry and the pirate recoiled his sword, breaking away momentarily to calculate his next tactic. Ron waited patently, his sword still raised from the last deflect. Jack returned to the dual quickly with four more simple strikes, all going toward Ron's head or torso. He parried each one with great skill, matching Jack's speed and grace. The final swipe the pirate made went directly for Ron's upper skull. He reached up, blocking his opponent yet again. Seconds after the parry, Ron pulled his sword down and whipped it at Jack's chest several times, twisting at the small tassels that hung from the pirate's shirt and forcing him to back away.

Jack looked up at Ron in surprise; he hadn't been expecting that kind of move, not from an aristo-brat. Most of them just played defense until he finally had them on the ground, sword pointed at their chests, though some he had faced had been quicker with a sword then he, this much he knew and remembered. This kid was good, very good, and could very well beat him if he put his mind to it. Perhaps he should play this a little more seriously.

Ron held his sword at level with Jack, his body shaped into a fighting stance. A smug smirk crossed his lips as he eyed the pirate's shock. He had truly stunned him with that quick move of offence. What had he been expecting from a blacksmith, someone who works with swords all the time? Defense until he was cornered?

As his smirk swerved down again, Ron made the first move, fencing his sword out at Jack, who was forced to parry in turn. The young blacksmith quickly pulled out and sliced his sword at the pirate once more. He met with Jack's instead, which then moved down for Ron's thigh. He stopped it before Jack could even come close to hitting him. Then tried for the pirate again, but he only came to meet a parry, and then had to parry for himself to avoid the opposite's sword once again. This cycle of movement continued for several more seconds as the two shuffled across the dirt floors, parrying, playing defense, as we'd call it, until finally, Ron had put Jack between himself and a wall, holding down the pirate's blade with his own.

Jack lifted his sword away quickly, causing the scraping noise to reemerge from the blades. Ron recoiled his arm forcefully, but still clutched the hilt in resistance, now fully riled up and ready for a fight. He stepped back into the center of the building as Jack approached again, his cutlass held in front of his chest.

"You know what you're doing, I'll give you that." he commented respectfully, causing Ron to raise an eyebrow of confusion. "Excellent form." Jack stopped abruptly, crossing his sword against Ron's in challenge, a look in his eyes overflowed with the emotion as he questioned him again.

"But how's your footwork?" Ron immediately understood.

"If I step here…" Jack said, and took a step to the left, to which Ron went opposite, one foot to the right, forming a small circle between them. They parried again, the clashing of swords went back and forth for a second before Ron blocked, holding Jack's at bay. He could feel the pressure that his opponent put upon his own blade, signaling that Jack was keeping the blacksmith back as well.

"Very good." the pirate commented as he looked up at the two crossed blades. Without wavering his eyes from them, he continued. "Now I step again." He swiped away from the cross, speedily walking counter clockwise, throwing several more difficult strikes at the boy, to which each were parried as Ron was circled by his opponent. Jack moved from the dual again, spinning out of circle before Ron's blade came crashing down on him.

He stood mere feet from the young blacksmith now, with a smile that spoke of high amazement, his dark eyes glittered with wonder. A very talented swordsman, this boy was. Clever, strong, and determined, and very handy with a sword. _He would make for a good pirate, _Jack thought.

He jokingly advanced at Ron again, to which, as expected, was parried. Ron stepped back from the mock threat on impulse. Jack gave an unsurprised stare.

"Ta," he said before turning his back to the young swordsman. He sheathed his sword and walked back to the door, pulling himself over the stone build that separated the main area from the entry.

Ron gave off an inquiring stare as his opponent fled the fight. His mind boiled over with anger. No, this was not over, not yet, he _would_ bring this pirate to justice.

His eyes narrowed, and in a burst of rage and quick thinking, he swung his sword arm back, then forward, throwing his blade out with such force.

_Thwack! _

Jack had reached the door and was about to lift the lock when this noise entered his ears. He looked to his left, finding Ron's sword inches from his nose, buried into the wood of the entrance, right over the blockade. It made a soft, wobbly sound as it settled from the quick tactic.

The pirate looked to Ron with wide eyes, then looked back at the sword. He stepped back a few feet and clasped the hilt, stopping the sword's movement. He pulled roughly, trying to remove it. Discontinuing for a second, he found that the weapon was stuck, but good. He stiffened up his arms with all the strength he could congregate, then tried again, shaking the sword angrily and muttering curses as he worked.

Ron watched Jack's sad attempt with amusement and pride, feeling as though he had really put up a winning on his part.

Jack violently tugged at the hilt a few more times, but still found no avail to this tactic. He then moved his arms down and grabbed the blockade from under, trying to pull it up in frustration, despite the sword that lay in its path. This, of course, proved useless as well. Jack tried one last time, and then moved away, sighing angrily. He looked at Ron was annoyance.

"That is a wonderful trick..." he said, his annoyance quickly morphed to a dangerous feeling that caused Ron to back step, realizing that he could not defend himself if Jack chose to draw his sword. Ron looked over his shoulder, to the furnace, where he saw his hope of getting out of this fight alive. He smiled slyly, then turned back to watch Jack as he stepped off the build, onto a nearby hay cart, which tipped slightly at the new imbalance of weight.

He continued speaking, "…except, once again, you are between me and my way out. And now…" Jack pulled his sword from it sheath again for effect, lifting it to his side, "you have no weapon." He sneered arrogantly as Ron stepped backward again; he was now a foot away from the furnace.

The young blacksmith acted quickly, reaching to the furnace's edge, he pulled the hilt of the newly forged sword he had been working on earlier that day. He pointed the orange glowing, heated tip at Jack, whose smile wavered at the sight of his opponent's newly acquired weapon. The donkey saw the sword, suddenly reminded of the former pain a burning object had caused him. He squealed in fear and took off, running his small circle and restarting the machine.

Jack watched the sword for several seconds with his brown eyes gone wide, then ran to the right, trying to pass the support beam with the sword rack. Ron took to the left, spinning around the beam and cutting Jack off, swinging his sword. Jack parried and red-orange sparks flew from the blades. Jack ran to the left of the beam, Ron spun back and their blades met again, more sparks blasted out from the blows. Ron pushed his sword toward Jack's legs. Jack was forced back, jumped away at the last second; hitting Ron's blade was his own, who stepped away at the blow. Jack took off for Ron, his sword raised. He crossed it with Ron's and leaned, forcing the blacksmith backwards again. Ron grunted at the pressure he was forced to put onto his arms, but was able to push Jack off with a quick summon of strength. He made a come back by fencing toward Jack's free arm, who saw this coming, and twisted the manacle chain around the edge of the blade before it made contact with his skin. He jerked his arm unexpectedly, and the sword flew from Ron's hands, clamoring onto the stone floor nearby.

Caught off guard and now aware he was, once again, weaponless. Ron cowardly shrank off to the other side of the sword rack; Jack followed his movements and swung his sword viciously at the boy. Ron veered to his left and Jack's weapon sliced at the air and became wedged into the support beam. He somersaulted over the moving turning wheel and landed semi skillfully onto the ground, once there, he reached out for another support beam, which also held a sword rack, and drew another blade from his collection.

Jack jumped onto the spinning wheel as it made its way toward the young blacksmith. A simple parry took place between the two, though Ron was beginning to look a little tired of this. Jack looked down at the other rack of swords, all beautiful and perfectly forged. Amazing.

"Who makes all these?" he asked to no one in particular.

Ron swatted at Jack's blade and the pirate jumped down from his perch. Ron quickly leaped onto the same wheel; his eyes now gleamed a bit more feverishly.

"I do!" Ron answered to the surprise of the pirate.

Jack went to attack from the left. Ron moved to the left side of the beam and skillfully parried again.

"…And I practice with them…" he continued arrogantly.

Jack held his blade steadily and made a strong swing toward Ron's face. Ron dodged and moved back to the right side of the beam. Their blades slightly met again and Jack gritted his teeth, annoyed by the boy's haughtiness, but Ron wasn't finished.

"…Three hours a day!" he said with confidence. His was tired of not getting the credit for all this work; at least now someone knew it was Ron Stoppable was both a skilled swordsman and a skilled blacksmith.

Jack swatted at Ron in response, and the boy quickly jumped off. Jack grabbed the beam and once again took his place on the wheel, now smiling sneeringly at Ron.

"You need to find yourself a girl, mate!" he spoke and struck for a fierce blow at Ron's skull once again. Ron clinched up and ducked before his head was sliced off and Jack's blade met with the beam. Ron lifted his own sword and tried at Jack, but the pirate jumped backwards right before the blade came too close, and it was beat against the beam lightly.

Jack landed on the other side of the shop. Upon straightening up, he grasped for a higher, spinning rack above his head and pulled a hammer down. Ron grabbed a second sword and jumped the wheel again to attack the pirate. Both came prepared. They fenced a couple times, then Jack raised the hammer and tossed it at the blacksmith. Ron fearfully ducked and the tool hit the floor. He soon jumped back with both his blades slashing. Jack parried his blows and quickly interlocked their swords, holding both of Ron's back with his one.

"Or!" he quickly began their banter again, looking the boy dead in the eyes. Which Ron found were stinging with tears from the smell of the pirate's breath. He raised an eyebrow as Jack spoke. "…Perhaps the reason you practice three hours a day is that you already found one, and are otherwise incapable of _wooing _said strumpet."

Jack's face suddenly clinched up into a disgusted expression. "You're not a eunuch, are you?" He looked down pointedly.

Ron's face turned from confused, to sour, to angry, in a matter of seconds. He had no idea what Jack meant by 'eunuch', whatever that was, but the comments about woman had certainly touched a nerve. He thought back to Kimberly, their friendship, their differences, Jack taking her hostage, and it all meshed together in one angry boiling pot inside his mind. A hotheaded expression appeared on his face.

"I practice three hours a day so that when I meet a _pirate_," he added effect to that word again by widening his eyes, "I can kill it!"

Jack gave him a mockingly surprised expression. Ron moved from the lock and made a slash for Jack, who jumped away and onto the hay cart. Ron tightened his grip on both swords and chased after him in blind fury.

The wooden block that held the cart in its place suddenly moved due to the sudden shift in weight. It slipped out from under them and the cart wobbled, its wheels free and two fully-grown men on each side of it. Its side slipped off the stone build and it rocked even worse, sliding forward very slowly. Jack and Ron took a moment to get used to the movement, but continued their sword fight. Jack threw out two strikes; Ron blocked both with a different sword, then grabbed Jack's sword between the two blades and forced him away. Jack stretched his weapon arm high in the air and endeavored to bring to down on the blacksmith. Ron was too quick for him, and parried it before it could leave the air. Lowering his blade, Jack tried again, this time at Ron's chest. Parried again. Ron then took his other sword a swung it at Jack, who ducked and brought up his sword for three more complicated attacks, to the neck, right arm, and upper thigh, and, unsurprisingly, Ron blocked them all. Jack tried for the knees, Ron parried with both swords, then brought them up and sliced each individually at Jack, to which he dodged, then came back was two more blows, met with two more parries. This was beginning to get very repetitive.

The donkey continued to make his round as he watched his owner fight for his life. Jack pushed into Ron's parry and tried to use it to hold the blacksmith back again. Ron caught Jack's blade with both of his and pushed him back. Jack went to pull away for an attack, but found he couldn't. Jack looked at his wrist and realized that one of Ron swords had found its way into the right hand's manacle chain somewhere during their last take at each other. Ron saw what had happened, looked at Jack for second, then decided to take advantage of the situation. He jerked the tangled sword upward and burrowed the tip of the blade into a low rafter. The chain slid to the hilt of the sword.

Jack found himself suddenly several inches off the ground as he was strung up by his arm. He jiggled his hand, attempting to loosen the blade, but it proved useless. He writhed forward, and Ron, who was watching with pride, backed up a little, fearing that Jack might try to kick him. He didn't, but instead, pulled out his sword again, and made several seemingly feeble swipes at Ron while dangling there. Still, a sword was a sword, no matter how bad it seemed to be used, it could still cut and slice. Ron was still forced to dodge each one until he had backed up to a point where Jack couldn't reach him, where he stood on the ground and had tilted the cart up one side, and down another. As it turns out, the 'up' side was Jack's, and he suddenly had something solid to stand on again. He stamped his leg down hard on the middle board, causing it to flip up. It almost hit Ron in the nose, but thankfully missed and only caused the young blacksmith to lose his balance.

Ron landed flat on his back, he shook his head and tried to come back from the daze the fall had caused.

Jack, now free of the pestering boy, lifted his entire lower body up, planting his feet onto the rafter he was bolted to, and began trying to pull himself down, grunting through clinched teeth.

Ron stood up and headed back for the cart, sword still in hand.

Jack continued his unprogressive endeavor, hoping just once, just once today, he could get his way, thinking how embarrassing it would be if the Royal Navy officers caught him like this, hanging by his arm and losing to a scrawny twerp like this kid. No, he was _Jack Sparrow_, there was not a scrap or obstacle in this world he couldn't handle, he had taken down sea monsters and other pirates tougher then this boy, so why was he having so much trouble defeating him?

Jack's thoughts and recollections were suddenly interrupted by the sound of creaking wood. He looked up too late, the sword had already been jostled loose, and Jack found himself falling back down.

Ron had gotten himself onto the cart and fixed to reenter the fight when he watched Jack fall from the rafter and hit the other side. He should've seen it coming, but he didn't. And the next thing Ron knew, he was flying, launched into rafters by the force of pirate's fall.

Jack rolled off the cart in a mess of black hair and ripped clothes and hit the stone build hard. He felt the blood rushing back from his head as he lifted himself and looked around. He was back on good old solid ground, nice to know. From what he could tell, no injuries had been sustained from the fall nor the hit. He was okay, and best of all, free again! Now just to win this sword fight and his day would be complete. He shook his head and looked back at the cart, expecting his young rival to be waiting with that confident smile, but his anticipations were met with disappointment. _Wait, where's the boy?_ He stood up, looking for his opponent with narrowed eyes. Ron was nowhere to be found. He stepped back on the wooden cart and got a better look around the shop. Nothing. Where had he gone? Or had he just run off like a coward?

Jack looked up at the rafters that had formerly held him captive, and he smiled greasily, revealing his two gold teeth.

Ron sat along one of the long slabs of wood, a still determined glare in his eye. This fight was far from over. Not far from the boy hung a thick net filled with three large barrels, the rope that held that up was tied to the rafter. The young blacksmith took his sword and slashed the nearby rope, it slid away and the net plummeted toward the cart. Jack realized, halfway through the net's fall, just what Ron had done.

As the barrels went down, hitting one side of the cart, Jack went up and was also sent flying. Airborne for mere seconds, the pirate grasped out and managed to hold on to the closest rafter. Jack sighed exhaustedly, then climbed up. Upon standing, Ron breathed out, now sweatier then before, and prepared to continue. Jack stood up and climbed over the wooden beam, landing on the one parallel to Ron's. He pulled out his sword once more. Time to finish this.

Both leaped from rafter to rafter, crisscrossing each other and edging closer to their next fencing lesson. Jack jumped to the opposite rafter again; actually he was finding it a little enjoyable. He smiled, but then noticed that Ron had not leaped to the opposing rafter like he had. Instead, he stood face to face with Jack, sword at the ready.

Ron went for a strike; Jack parried quickly and fenced out at the boy. As their parrying continued, they were forced to tiptoe along the narrow board, which made it harder then it would be on the ground. Ron carefully jumped back to the other beam, and Jack followed. Their swords crossed in a moment of pure intensity, then they continued. Back and forth, another fence, another parry, that is… until Ron slapped the hilt of Jack's blade with his own, and sent it flying out of the pirate's hand and sailing to the ground.

Jack suddenly recoiled as Ron held the blade level with his chest. The boy smiled victoriously, and griped his sword with much pride. Jack was not as pleased, not fact, he looked quite shocked and frightened. _Forget image! I'm getting out of here before I'm caught!_ He took off to the very edge of the beam, grabbed it, and flipped down to the bottom of the shop, landing himself close to the wall.

Ron watched his opponent flee, but no, he wasn't done, this pirate was going to prison today, and by his hand. He kneeled down and grabbed the rafter, swinging off the side, and gliding to the dirt floor. From where he stood, he could see Jack, whom he now had cornered again.

Jack turned around and saw what predicament he had gotten into, and now he was stuck. Not good! Franticly, he searched for another weapon, but all to be found was a large sack of sand that hung above the furnace. He looked back at Ron, who suddenly charged at him with great speed. Jack gritted his teeth nervously and looked at the sack again, _oh well, beggars can't be choosers._

Right as Ron had reached the pirate, Jack lunged toward the furnace, grabbed the sack, aimed it for Ron, and squeezed the top hard. In an instant, orange, dusty sand filled the air, and poor Ron found himself caught in the full blast and temporarily blinded. He shielded his eyes with his hands and tried shift away from the sand, to which Jack only took advantage of. He relinquished his grip on the now empty sack and kicked the sword from Ron's hand, then jumped down from the furnace. Ron had felt the sharp pain in his hand and the hilt leave his palm. In the instance, he tried to rub some of the sand from his eyes and locate another weapon. His hair was completely undone and what was once colored yellow blonde, was now carrot orange, and his skin looked no different, like the rust on an old bolt, grainy and an unflattering shade of orange. His eyes hurt and were bloodshot from the sandblasting he had received. His clothes, his best clothes, he began to wonder if they were ruined and forever dyed this awful color. Not that that mattered right now.

He was suddenly able to spot a pair metal tongs through his sandy eyes, quickly he lifted them, and wheeled around in a defensive position, ready to yet again fight his attacker. But when Ron turned around, he wasn't just met with the unpleasant sight of Jack Sparrow, but the even more unpleasant sight of a loaded black pistol.

Ron eyes widened in a sudden burst of fear. Jack held it steady, fingers lingering over the trigger, a dead serious look in his eyes, though Ron could tell he was reclusive about using the weapon. He wouldn't risk relaying on a pirate's better judgment though; chances are he might get shot if he didn't surrender. He was good at blocking a sword, but ricocheting a bullet was near impossible. And Jack knew that.

"You cheated!" Ron said in a winy tone.

"Pirate," Jack merely replied and gave him a surprised look, like Ron had just stated the obvious.

There was a sudden rattling slam against the locked front door, followed by the grunting and shouting of many men. Shards of red fabric and musket barrels were visible through the spaces in the wood. They'd found him!

Jack looked at the door, then back Ron, who saw them and stepped away from his corner backwards, then stopping and blocking off the back door, he held the tongs like he would a sword.

"Move away." Jack told him.

Ron shook his head. "No," he replied calmly, but rather bravely.

"Please move," Jack said again, this time begging.

Ron's voice became gruff. "No! I can't just step aside and let you escape!" he looked back at the front door, hoping the Marines would hurry up already.

Jack became frustrated and cocked the pistol, causing a shiver to run down Ron's spine. He twisted his mouth in something of regret.

"This shot is not meant for you," he said in a tone that suddenly made Ron wonder what he meant, though he never got a chance to ask.

A _thwack! _sounded from behind Jack. The pirate suddenly gave off a strange, emotionless expression that confused Ron, then he watched as Jack fell face first and hit the floor. Ron gasped as he looked down at the unconscious form of Jack Sparrow, then looked up, and was surprised to see Mr. Brown standing over the pirate, holding a now broken rum bottle. He looked up at Ron, his elderly eyes filled with power and wisdom, and he nodded.

As if timed for it, the soldiers let out a definitive cry and the doors suddenly slammed open as they kicked them in. They swarmed into shop in signal file, muskets at the ready, and formed a quick circle around Sparrow. Once every soldier had taken to the shop, Commodore Barkin and Lieutenant Gillette entered, their pistols drawn. The donkey froze in fear as the strangers stormed past him, the machine began to slow once more.

Barkin and Gillette joined in the group of soldiers and gazed down at Jack, who lay face first on the dirt floor, his pistol not but two inches from his emptied hand. Several of the young soldiers aimed their muskets at him, should he wake up.

"Excellent work, Mr. Brown," Barkin said as he looked down at Jack with a certain gleam in his eye, a victorious one. He wavered his vision toward the old man, who held his walking stick in one hand now. "You've assisted in the capture of a dangerous fugitive."

Mr. Brown nodded again, his white beard bouncing amusingly. "Just doing my civic duty, sir."

Ron made a sour face. Civic duty? He'd slept all day! It was he, Ron, that had defended his home and his family from this pirate. Brown probably wouldn't have woken had he not fought Jack! But once again, his master took all the credit for the things _he_ had done.

Barkin nodded back, then looked down at his pirate enemy. He had done it. He _had_ captured Jack Sparrow! Vengeance was sweet! No one made a fool of Steven Franklin Barkin! An arrogant smirk suddenly formed on the Commodore's face.

"Well, I trust you will always remember this as the day that Captain Jack Sparrow _almost_ escaped." he nodded softly, then turned back toward the door. They were done here. "Take him away."


	4. Chapter 4

If you've ever visited the island of Jamaica, you would know for a fact that Port Royal no longer exists the way it did in 1745, not after the earthquake of 1692 destroyed almost half the island and sent it crumbling into the Caribbean Sea, leaving the formerly British owned island in an absolute disarray and of course two centuries of modernization and tourism. After several feeble attempts to rebuild to pirate town, they gave up on it. 'Tis probably no more then a tourist attraction owned by Kingston now. But in its glory days, when you could see a famous pirate on any given day of the week, whether it be on a causal walk through the docks, or at Gallow's Point where they met their ends at a rope. Those were the days when Port Royal was worth living in.

If you'd ever visited Port Royal of 1745, you'd certainly get more of your vacation money's worth. You'd get to see the very things described in the brochure you receive at a souvenir shop; all the sights, smells, and feelings that came with the Golden Age of Piracy.

And if you ever made your way to the Port Royal of long ago, you would most definitely have visit the town's most glorious gem, the prestigious and regal FortCharles. The pride of the King's Caribbean colonization and the strongest form of protection against enemy ships. This was where the Royal Navy stood guard, where all of the town's most important weapons were housed, and where Commodore Barkin's promotion ceremony had been held not more then twelve hours before.

And speaking of the young Commodore...

The cement layered top of FortCharles was long, lanky, and as well made as the rest of the building, but even that didn't make it look any better for Steven Franklin Barkin. The night resigned of curses and bewitchment, as much as he wanted to disregard it, he was smart enough to know better then the superstitious goats down by the docks who lived to spread stories and scare children.

But something did not feel right about that cool summer evening. The fact that _there was_ such a strong breeze going was really odd. The way the fog kept rolling in from the ocean so thickly and wildly, and that moon; he got shivers just looking at it. Full moons were nice and all, but this one seemed very... strange, to say the least. Evil, almost, and the way it resonated off of the fog, giving the smoky cover a green tint. He just really wished the night looked a little better.

It didn't help with his mood either. He should be happy, shouldn't he? He'd put a scourge of the Caribbean in prison, on the day he became Commodore of the Royal Navy! The was a joyous day for him, but he just couldn't bring himself to celebrate. Every time he tried, the words of Kimberly Possible drove back into his head like nails to a wooden plank. Kimberly. Smart, powerful, different, beautiful, wonderful Kimberly. The girl who always seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, and the only female on this island who didn't swoon at the sight of him. Josh liked that about her, she kept him grounded that way, stopped him from becoming too wrapped up in himself. Because, as popular as Steven became, she would always remind him that he hadn't won _everyone_ over just yet.

In truth, he had seen Kimberly's disregard as a challenge, a chance to try and change her mind. It was very boorish of him to do such a thing, he thought with remorse, to see Kimberly as someone to win over. But he could not help himself. Those feelings he got around her, those ever irritating emotions he had finally willed into words on that fine afternoon, only to have them crushed. Did she really feel that way? Did she really... _hate _him?

"Master Barkin..." His deep pondering was broken by a calm and familiar voice. The Commodore wheeled around to meet eyes with Governor Possible, who emerged from the green fog, still styling the clothes he had been wearing earlier, a jovial but somber expression crossed his face, as usual of today.

"Governor!" Steven said with surprise. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect you..."

"It's quite alright, Commodore," James cut him off quietly, waving his hands casually, "I just came to see how you were doing after today's little adventure."

Steve's eyes widened a little. He slipped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heel, smiling brightly. He hated lying, but it was best to keep his problems out of the subject. "Oh, great! Things are great! Never been happier!"

James shook his head and smirked as he strode over to the battlement wall, leaning himself onto it. He gazed at Barkin with a cocked eyebrow. "You do know that you are a terrible liar?"

Steve, knowing his mirage would not work from the moment he decided to put it on, dropped his head and sighed, letting himself become overrun with emotion. Out of the corner of his eye, Governor Possible caught a somber smile from the boy, simply there to mask his tears. James felt a strong sense of pity for the man as he walked over to the governor's side and crossed his arms over the short wall, watching the outgoing ocean, fighting back sadness in those serious eyes.

"Is this about Kimberly?" he asked, taking on the voice of a father, rather then a Governor.

Steve didn't acknowledge him, eyes still locked on the sea, silence prevailed. James waited patiently. He could see the hurt in the boy's eyes, welling with every moment he fought back. All those years of training his emotions finally cracked though, and Steven Barkin swore felt salty tears form in his eyes as he explained himself.

"She really does hate me, doesn't she?"

James sighed as he copied the young man's position, leaning his crossed his arms over the wall. He looked at Barkin sadly, unsure how to answer such a question. He knew how she _really_ felt, but how to explain that to Josh?

"I don't think she hates you, but she doesn't like you much either."

The Commodore rubbed his temple, choking as he forced back the urge to sob. _Soldiers don't cry, _he bitterly repeated the words of his father to himself. He regained some composer and looked back at James.

"Since I came to Port Royal, I've done nothing but try to win her affection."

"I know," James answered plainly.

"But how do I do that when she doesn't return the feelings?" The desperation in his voice was all too apparent.

The Governor cupped his chin in his hand. "I'm not sure, Commodore Barkin, but I do know that you don't earn love by 'winning people over', you get it through time and trust."

Steve sighed. "I know," he was silent again, seemingly pondering. James did the same, waiting yet again for the young man to speak first.

The Commodore sighed heavily. "And I suppose her answer..."

The Governor looked back quickly, knowing what Josh was asking about. "She actually didn't give one yet, she'd had tiring day and just rushed into her room upon returning home,"

"Oh," he answered, his voice dismal, but something of hope lingered there. He sighed again before looking back at the sea. "I doubt she'll say yes anyway,"

Governor Possible watched in remorse, wondering for the first time, what repercussions would his actions have on the Commodore and his daughter? He'd forced the matter of their marriage really, in hoping that he could save Kimberly from those dangerous, pirate-infested daydreams of hers, that... adventurous nature she had. He was only doing what he felt was best, after all those sleepless nights, fearing that one day he'd watch his child walk to the hangman's noose, all because of a ridiculous dream. Of course he wanted his daughter to be happy, but he wanted her to be safe too.

And she was a Possible! The Possibles didn't do things like that. For generations, they were, and continued to be, a family of pride and integrity, not of renegade sailors and stupid adventurers. That was simply unheard of, irresponsible, and... and... oh what was the word he was looking for?

_Impossible, _James thought, catching the irony in the phrase.

The Governor shook his head, massaging his temple gently. He just needed this day to end, and soon. Hopefully tomorrow Kimberly would feel better, and he could talk to her about the proposal.

But right now, he just needed to rest his mind of all these worries, at least for a little while. Quickly, he looked around for something to change the subject, anything! But he couldn't face within two feet of his own face with all this fog!

"Ghastly weather, don't you think?" he stated casually, as if thick, green fog was a normal to the governor.

barkin, who also somewhat welcomed a change of subject, nodded in agreement. "Bleak, and unusual. It came out of no where!" he spoke as though half listening, probably too busy figuring out what to make to the confusing day. The Governor sighed and decided that maybe it was best to let the boy figure it out for himself.

There was another space of awkward, thought-filled silence over the two men for several prolonged seconds, before James broke it once more, his expression suddenly perplexed as he looked to Josh.

"Do you hear that?"

Steven was confused at the question. "Hear what?" he asked, keening his ears to listen past the nightly cricket chorus and his own thoughts.

At first it sounded like nothing, but then, a faint, high-pitched whistle, like something heavy falling from the skies. It seemed to be getting closer, in a hurry too. If Commodore Barkin's ears weren't mistaking him, that was the sound of...

"Cannon fire!" he screamed, catching sight of the hundred-pound iron ball hurdling down toward the governor and himself, a trail of smoky black and orange fire fallowing behind it.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the collar of James' coat and pulled him from the battlement wall just as it was blasted into large and lethal pieces. Blown back, they landed on the walkway just inches from the destruction, but safe no less.

Quickly shaking off the shock, Barkin got up from his rump and examined the damage made by the cannonball. An ominous gap lay where he had stood not but a second ago, just the sight caused him to send off a thankful prayer and recount his blessings. The damage was nothing serious, but it very well could've killed himself and James right then and there.

That, and a big hole in the battlement wall didn't exactly say 'feared military fortress'. _Best get Gillette to start working on that soon_, he thought as he traced the misty trail left in the sky by the attack. When his eyes met with the source, he caught himself swallowing... hard.

James, who had failed to notice the incoming danger, lay flat on his stomach, rubbing his head slightly from the bump he'd received upon impact. Getting on his hands and knees, he finally looked up at his comrade.

"Good Lord, Steven! What was that?" he asked roughly, making a weak attempt to stand up.

Steve removed his gaze from the sea and spoke. "Cannonball, and by the looks of it, it won't the last for tonight...look." He quickly lent James a hand, pulling him up right. Once a quick 'thank you' had left the governor's mouth, Barkin pointed outward, toward where the harbor began. James followed his directions, then caught sight of it! A large, black, grotesque sailing ship, armed to the teeth and bustling with a bloodthirsty-looking crew that was practically pouring into the rowboats. James knew what they were long before the Commodore spat that accursed word.

"Pirates,"

Another resounding _boom_ shook the prison at its weak foundation, signaling a continuation of the attack. The terrible bombardment frightened the prisoners, who all watched the walls rattle under pressure and prayed that they would not be killed in the incident, not that they had much to look forward to.

Everyone was terrified... that is, except for Jack Sparrow.

He still sat, unperturbed, in his small cell, hat over his eyes. He quietly thought to himself, trying to come up with an escape plan.

_And that's when _**BOOM! **_I'll attack the guard and _**BOOM!** _steal his gun by _**BOOM!**

He opened one eye and sneered. How was he supposed to concentrate with all that blasted cannon fire outside? He listened to the warlike noise again. Most would hear nothing but chaos, but he heard something else; his freedom.

"I know those guns..." he spoke quietly, but enthusiastically, scrambling to his feet to see outside the cell window that overlooked the harbor.

Under a coating of green fog lay the aged, ebony ship that was attacking Port Middleton, its menacing haul growing ever closer to the island. Jack's dark eyes widened. It couldn't be, but it was.

"It's the _Pearl_," he whispered to himself.

From the cell next door, the redheaded prisoner, identified as Matthew Atler, stepped closer to the bars that separated him from Jack.

"The _Black Pearl_?" he asked, though expected no answer from his fellow pirate. The shorter man joined him at bars, as if to catch a glimpse of the deadly ship.

"I've heard stories," Matthew stated shakily, with no feel for his mathematical phrasing at the moment. "She's been attacking ships and settlements for nearly ten years," he swallowed before continuing. "Leaves no survivors,"

"No survivors?" Jack said, looking back at them with a smug smile, "then where do the stories come from, I wonder?"

Matthew seemingly switched his expression from terror to confusion. He hadn't thought about that. Maybe those stories weren't completely true after all, he really needed to stop listening to Gibbs back at the Faithful Bride.

On another side of town, at the blacksmith's shop, Ron was busily working on a newly melded sword, banging away at the glowing, orange blade. His mind was on other things though, like Kimberly, his best friend, the girl who'd always had his back. Whom he... he loved.

She was now set to marry Steven Barkin, a man that Kimberly had repeatedly expressed dislike for. Her father had probably set this up, he just knew it.

It wasn't fair, to either of them. He had waited too long to explain himself, she had waited too long to follow what she believed was right. They had both postponed their true feelings and it had landed them further from each other then ever before, in just one day!

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" he shouted with each _clang. _"Stupid feelings! Stupid Barkin! Stupid royal title of the Possibles! And stupid, stupid pirates!- owww!" With his last shout of annoyance, Ron had failed to watch where his free hand was, and had managed to slip it between the sword and the hammer.

Dropping his work, Ron grabbed his hand, ripped off his brown gloves, and began rubbing his sore fingers, then, when that failed to help, stuck them in his mouth as if to suck out the pain.

The donkey watched his owner from the other side of the shop, braying loudly, as though laughing at Ron's general foolishness.

Ron looked at the donkey, glaring as his removed his fingers from his lips, shaking them lightly while pointing at him with his other hand.

"Laugh it up, let's see if you get any extra oats tonight," he threatened. The animal seemed unconvinced, giving a look that Ron swore was a smirk.

The young blacksmith was about to speak again, hoping to get the final word in their argument, when a loud _boom _came from the roof of the building, shaking everything on the inside. Ron stumbled backwards into a pile of hay, tools fell off of shelves and tables, pieces of the ceiling crumbled from the impact and crashed on the floor, causing the donkey to cry out in fear and back up as best he could.

As the destruction ceased inside the blacksmith shop, Ron sat up, brushing hay out of his eyes and hair, a shocked expression on his face.

"What the heck?" he muttered, looking up at the small hole in the ceiling.

A woman's high pitched shriek came from outside, causing Ron's heart to skip at beat. The feminine scream was quickly accompanied by a chorus of cries and the drumbeat of running feet.

Without a second thought, Ron was up and running to the front door. He opened it carefully, looking out at the streets that expanded before him, once quiet and void of pedestrians, now overrun with fearful people; beggars, merchants, men with their wives and children, all fleeing for their lives as similar explosions... cannonballs, Ron finally noticed with wide, fearful eyes, destroyed nearby houses, carts, and anything within their path. People fell from rooftops and balconies as the blasts blew them down toward a painful demise.

So afraid was poor Ron that he almost failed to notice Mr. Franklin and his family race by. They stopped upon seeing him.

"Ron, what in heaven's name are you still doing inside? Get out of here before you're killed!" Josiah shouted over the terrified chaos.

"Mr. Franklin, what's happening?" Ron asked.

The man's eyes grew wide. "Pirate attack! Now you and your master get moving before they start coming on land!" Without a single goodbye, the Franklins took off once more, leaving Ron to process this latest development in his life. He sighed heavily.

"Oh, as if the day couldn't get any worse!"

As if an answer to his rhetorical question, his trousers suddenly and unexpectedly fell, revealing his blue undergarments. Ron gasped, then groaned in frustration.

The dark but moonlit, and foggy waters shifted back and forth over the sandy shore as sailors and dock workers run into town screaming with fear, avoiding the damage done by the pirate ship, some limping away due to injury.

With the area quickly cleared, it left room for twenty or more pirate-filled rowboats to get the island's shore with ease. Battle cries and blood-curdling shouts rang through the fog as the men sailed in, those who were not navigating the boats were brandishing pistols, cutlasses, and all horrid manner of deadly weapon, some already climbing out to help pull everyone else to shore, other racing into the streets, already pillaging, plundering, and terrorizing.

In a deadly spilt-second, they hit land, skidding on the wet sand and pulling up out of the water. They cleared out of the boats like ants headed for a picnic, and gnashing their teeth, swords held high, they followed their fellow pirates into the panic-ridden streets.

But amongst the group were two interesting men, two who play a key part in the telling of this story. Two of which I will describe to you... now.

The first was for the most part, average. Average height, average weight, average IQ. The only things that really set him apart from the others was his spiky, ponytailed, black hair, large scar under one of his beady, black eyes, and, most importantly, his arctic blue skin.

Now his partner really had nothing spacial to say about himself, what with his normal pirate look, his simple brown hair, and equally beady, black... eye. Well, he only had one real eye, the other was wooden. He moved it up and down unnaturally, looking at his comrade, who laughed manically before taking off into town at break-neck speed, the other man quickly followed.

The explosions and screams that ensued throughout town were suddenly accompanied by psychotic battle cries, maniacal laughter, and clashing swords, signaling that the pirates had made land and were doing substantial damage outside.

Ronald Stoppable nervously glanced at the front door, praying that the vicious crew wouldn't feel need to break it down and raid the shop. He looked back down at his work table, grabbing a finished sword and an axe, stuffing them into his belt with determination.

_Okay, _he thought, _time to put all that training to the test!_

He looked to his left, where the donkey stood, fidgeting somewhat, but seemingly calmer with Mr. Brown at his side. The old man stroked the donkey's muzzle. Ron took a step toward his master and his animal friend.

"Alright, stay here, I'm gonna go out and see if I can help with fending off these pirates," the bravery in his voice was nothing short of a bluff.

"We have the greatest of confidence in you, Stoppable," Mr. Brown said, nodding. "Good luck,"

Ron smiled. "Thanks, I gonna need it,"

The young man swallowed hard, then made haste for the door, opening it quickly, as battle-ready as he'd ever be.

The scene outside had not changed much since he'd last checked, people running, things on fire, all around chaos, but this time, the chaos was being added to by pirates. They were everywhere; shooting, killing, _setting_ things on fire, giving chase to those who ran. It was horrific!

Ron barely had time to soak in the destruction of his neighborhood before he caught sight of the local doctor's wife, the beautiful Mrs. Vivian Porter, running pasted the blacksmith's shop in her nightgown, her hair up in a kerchief, she was screaming, a fearful expression on her face. Quickly trailing behind her, a stubby, red-haired, and bearded man, wearing a white shirt and a tartan kilt, a wicked grin on his face as he chased the young woman with a small round explosive.

As they zoomed past him, Ron's impulse kicked in. He didn't even think as he pulled the axe from his belt and tossed it. The weapon cartwheeled through the air and with scary precision, sliced into the pirate's back with a gory sound that made the boy cringe.

The man left out a dying grunt as he fell to his knees, then slumped over on the ground, dead.

Mrs. Porter was long since gone, probably not realizing that her pursuer was down. Ron was breathing deep as he looked down at the corpse. He'd just killed a man. A pirate, yes, but he'd just killed. He didn't even have time to think about it, he'd just... done it. Ron truly felt frightened of himself now.

_How did I do that, how did I hit him so perfectly, _he wondered as he pulled his axe from the dead body and raced off again to help his neighbors, unsure of what he would do next.

Kimberly pushed opened her windows as the horrible sight unfolded before her, as it had since she'd first sat by the window tonight, watching the ship move into the horbor, explosions and battle making short work of the island, _her home_. The foggy night was suddenly ablaze with screams and fear, making Port Royal seem like a tortured slice of land that the Devil himself would've been proud of.

She watched with horror, and anger. Fingers tightened on the wooden windowpane as she ground her teeth.

_As if the day couldn't get any worse, _she thought to herself bitterly, the large fires around the island reflecting in her green eyes.

It seemed as though Kimberly was ready to fight, to rip into the very hearts of the monsters who had dared to defile her place on Earth. Just wait 'till she got down there!

It was then that the sound of clanking metal broke her battle-ready mentality, forcing her area of vision to shrink down to her own front yard, where she caught sight of a large group (she lost count of them after some trying) of particularly mean looking pirates as the busted the lock on the gate and ran up to her house manically.

A cord of fear for her family, as while as the other residents of the house, suddenly struck inside her as she watched run straight for the front double doors, with weapons at the ready. This was bad! Really, _really_ bad!

Kimberly wasn't sure what she could do to stop the group, and she pondered her chances of beating all of them on her own as she sped from room and down the stairs, hoping to get there before they did. Her skills with a sword were much better then most people would expect. As a young boy, Ron would go to the Possibles manor after training with his blacksmith master, and teach Kimberly what he had learned. Years of this had brought the aristocrat to understand the ways the sword almost as good as her best friend did.

Would it even matter? Did her father even have a useable sword in this house?

She didn't know.

There was a prominent knock on the door as she skidded to a halt at the balcony of the stairs, where she had stood that morning to greet her father and Ron. Her mind trailed at the thought of her friend, and she prayed within the deepest reaches of her heart that he was okay.

Kimberly was quickly pulled from her mind at the second sounding of the brass knocker. She gave a confused look. What kind of pirates knocked on the door? Unless...

Fiske, ever faithful to his duties, unaware of the dangers lurking outside the house, approached the door with the same grace and politeness as his fathers before him, also butlers to the Possibles. He was a friend, a care giver, part of the family since Kimberly was a little girl, which left the young redhead, even in her oldest years, regretting the fact that she hadn't more to save him that night then...

"No! Don't!" she screamed, but it was already too late. Fiske had pulled down the handle and opened one of the doors, met with the unfortunate sight of ten bloodthirsty, well armed pirates.

"'Ello chum," said the front man, raising his pistol to Fiske's head and pulling the trigger without hesitation.

Despite her vow to remain sneaky, Kimberly let out a shrill scream as the butler's dead body fell to the floor, and the pirates swarmed into the parlor like violent, angry bees, taking off into different rooms and causing a chaotic mess wherever they went.

The blue skinned man and the one-eyed man stepped over Bates last, bringing up the rear of the raid, only because the wooden-eyed one was talking the ears off of his partner and had slowed them both down.

"... I'm telling you! If the captain had made a left turn at that little island, we would've gotten to Singapore much faster, saving us untold amounts of-"

The blue man held a hand up to his friend's face. "Lucre, please! Now's not the time! We're in the middle of something!" he gestured around the room, which was already bustling with pirates, doing what they did best.

He turned back to find Lucre still looking at his raised arm.

"Did you ever notice how small your fingers are?" Lucre looked up at his partner, holding his own hand up, as if to compare them.

Drakken grabbed at his face with aggravation. Not only were they getting off track... again, but now he was having to deal with his unusually feminine hands, a family curse, as he referred to it.

He removed his unmanly fingers from his eyes and looked up at the house stairs, where he suddenly caught sight of a nervous looking, redheaded young woman. Drakken gaped with surprise, then pointed at her with a devilish grin.

"Lucre, up there! C'mon!" he shouted, drawing his sword and beginning a quick climb up the stairs. Lucre smiled excitedly, pulling out his own cutlass and following Drakken.

Kimberly gave a look of surprise and slight fear, then took off up the next flight of stairs, the pirates trailing her with no trouble. _Gotta find something to fight with,_ she kept thinking as she continued to climb the tall stairway, hoping to reach her room in time.

It felt like she had been running up forever, but she got to the doorway of her bedroom right as the two men caught up with her. Slipping in, Kimberly grabbed the open door and slammed it shut behind her, hitting the lock for good measure. The pirates beat against it in response, probably hoping to break it down. But that would hold them, for now.

Kimberly backed away slowly, she was in the small entryway that led to her room. There were plenty of things in here that she could use to fight these two idiots off; the fire stoker, her parasol, the bed warming pan. _One knock to the head with that thing... _she thought maliciously.

A hand fell on her shoulder suddenly. Kimberly screamed and wheeled around, taking a fighting position, only to be met with a similarly startled female screech.

It was Zita.

The tan skinned girl breathed a sigh of relief, then grabbed the young aristocrat by the forearms and pulled her down so that they were both knelt on the floor. By the look in Zita's eyes, Kimberly could tell she was very scared.

"Miss Possible, thank goodness you're all right!" she said, embracing her friend tightly. She pulled away and grabbed Kimberly's shoulders tightly. "You've got to get out, they've come to kidnap you!"

The redhead's eyes widened with bewilderment. "What?"

"You're the governor's daughter," Zita's voice became raspy and dark, in a way that gave Kimberly chills.

There was another violent jiggle at the handle, louder this time, so much so that Zita let out another scream of fear. They were actually breaking in, and much faster then anticipated! Kimberly felt a wave of panic hit her, but she swallowed it, and faced her friend. This time she was the serious one.

"Okay, Zita, here's what I need you to do. Hide, I'll distract these two, and the first chance you get, run, find my family, and all of you, head for the fort!"

The young maid's eyes widened. "But you-!"

"I'll be fine," Kimberly said quickly, those she still wasn't sure of how she would handle this by herself.

A jostle on the door, then the sound of the lock beginning to snap from the pressure told the redhead that she was out of time. She raised her skirts and ran back into her bedroom.

"Just follow my lead!" Kimberly muttered back, before disappearing behind a corner.

Zita sank into the shadows fearfully, just as the lock broke off and two very impatient pirates stormed in, looking around for their original target with two keen pair and a half of eyes. The maid quietly prayed that they wouldn't find her.

When they found the small den was empty, Drakken and Lucre wasted no time going into the bedroom. There was no where else to run.

The maid watched with horror, hoping that Kimberly had come up with something good to stop these men.

"We've got you no–" was all Drakken got say before his forehead was met with a hard metal pan and several pounds of hot coal.

Without a moment's hesitation, Zita raced out the door, remembering her orders and wishing Miss Possible the best of luck.

Lucre dropped his sword and watched in surprise as his partner gave a dizzied expression, collapsing where he stood. Then he looked up, just in time to see an angry looking redheaded girl with a bed warmer clutched in her grip. Kimberly swung it back again, to hit Lucre in the same fashion, but the pirate was quick, and managed to catch it right before it hit his head. He pulled the pan above his own head and forced the redhead closer.

Kimberly let out a surprised grunt and narrowed her eyes with anger. Lucre just smiled with pride.

"Look, Drakken! I did it! I did it!" he shouted to his near unconscious friend. Looking back, yet again, he found Kimberly expression had changed to that of a smirk. Her hand was raised to a higher part of the bed warmer.

"Oh, you did it all right," she said smugly, pressing what looked like a lever on the warmer's handle. Instantly, the pan snapped open, releasing every steaming, hot coal inside, and right onto Lucre's head.

He screamed as the fire sizzled through his mouse brown hair and over his pale face, letting go of the bed warmer as he attempted to stifle the flames with his hands. "Fire! It's hot! Get it off of me!"

Kimberly smirked at her victorious move, then sped past the both of them and back out the door, leaping over Drakken just as he began regaining his senses.

The blue-skinned pirate grabbed his cutlass from off the floor and stood up, now very agitated.

"Come on, Lucre!" he shouted, already halfway out the door.

Lucre brushed the remaining coal off of himself as he followed Drakken with haste. "He- hey, wait up! My hair is burning here! Could you... just slow down?"

This wasn't what she'd signed up for when she came to work for Governor Possible, and right about now, she was really beginning to regret those choices.

Zita Flores had spent most of her younger years in poverty. Her father had died when she was just three, leaving Mama and her baby brother, Diego, to fend for themselves back in Spain. Little well paying work could be offered to a poor widow and her starving children, so they took what they had and stowed away on the next ship to America. Unfortunately, the captain discovered them before they reached their destination. When the ship made a stop for supplies in Port Royal, the family was dropped off and left there.

The rest of the story was easy to predict. Zita met Kimberly Possible after the young aristocrat saved her from being flattened by an oncoming carriage. Kimberly brought the girl back to the mansion to be cleaned up, and Zita ended up explaining her predicament to the entire Possible clan. Feeling sorry for the girl's family, James offered her a job working at the house, cleaning and such. And everything just snowballed from there on out.

The position of head maid paid relatively well, so her family could now hold themselves up without the help of her father and the company at Possible manor was always good; Kimberly had proved to be a great friend to her, as well as the other members of the family, and the other house workers, such as Mandy, the cook, and Fiske. Zita had never been shown greater kindness and love then she had here in Port Royal.

But it felt like that was all gone now.

As the Hispanic girl ran through the front of the house, she felt as though her very way of life was coming to an end. Friends screaming and running for their very lives as crazed buccaneers rampaged through the mansion, destroying everything in sight, ransacking rooms of precious metals, jewelry, and other expensive items. Amongst the chaos, the dead body of Fiske, kind, wonderful Fiske, lay at the front door, his eyes open and glossed over as drying blood ran across his forehead.

Zita felts tears run down her cheeks and forced herself to look away. It hurt too much to watch this, to watch family die this way.

Distracting herself from the awful sight, she redirected her attention to the task at hand; finding Lady Anne Possible and her two boys. Hopefully the pirates hadn't already gotten to them.

Zita made a left from the parlor and down a hallway, which led to the twin's room. It was already littered with destruction, leading her into a moment of pure panic. They had been here already.

"James! Timothy! Lady Possible!" she called frantically as she made her way through scattered broken lamps, vases, and paintings, to the bedroom door, eyes searching for any sight of the identical boys or their mother.

No answer, and no one to be seen. Zita's fear increased ten fold. Not them! No way could these horrible men have killed Mrs. Possible and the twins! She was losing too much tonight as it was! Why them?

Turning the corner into another hallway, Zita called for them again.

"Mrs. Possib-!" her words were cut short as she rammed head first into something large and hard.

Stumbling back, she rubbed her now sore nose, and then looked up, trying to gather as to what she'd run into.

Her eyes widened fearfully as they were met with the sight a large, muscular pirate, a cutlass in his right hand and an evil sneer on his face. Apparently, he had been trying to pull out a golden candleholder from one of the walls, when an annoying little servant girl so rudely interrupted him.

Zita took a few steps away before she was met with a wall. The pirate matched her every move and cornered her, grinning evilly as he raised his blade above his head, poised to strike, then brought it down right at the young girl. Zita held her hands over herself and shut her eyes tightly, bracing for the searing pain that came with being cut in half.

A loud _boom _and a blaze of orange, and suddenly, the angered pirate was thrown across the hallway like a rag doll, going straight through the end wall and leaving a giant, pirate shaped gap in his wake.

When the cutlass never came, Zita made herself look, to see what was holding back her demise. Her mouth hung open as she gazed upon the large hole on the other side of the hallway.

_How_ _on Earth... _she began to think.

"Hicka-bicka-boo?"

"Hoosha!"

The identical voices chorused behind Zita, promptly followed by what sounded like a high five. The girl was quick to turn around and look back the way she'd come.

Standing there confidently was Mrs. Possible, still in her nightclothes, her hands crossed over her chest as she smiled warmly. To her left and right were Jim and Tim, both of which were holding the sides of a very large gun-looking object, made up of scrap metal and what looked like tree sap, it was set in a shooting position. They smiled in unison as they looked up at their mother.

"We told you, mom..." Tim said.

"...That combining the gun powder with our fuel mixture..." Jim continued.

"…Would cause a chemical reaction!"

"Resulting in the ultimate in firepower!" the boys slapped hands again at this.

Mrs. Possible grinned at her children and nodded. "Nicely done, boys," she then looked back at Zita with sudden concern. The young maid was still wearing a face of pure shock.

"Zita, are you okay?" she asked in a motherly tone.

The words entered her subconscious smoothly, and broke her state of surprise with ease. Zita raced up to the small group, and despite herself, embraced the two boys happily.

"Fine," she said, tears of joy running down her face as she stood up, trying to regain some composer. "I'm just fine, Lady Possible."

She looked down at the boys again, preferably eyeing their strange-looking gun.

"What is that?" she asked inquiringly. Jim and Tim held out their chests proudly as they lifted the large weapon closer for Zita to see.

"Just a little something we've been working on," Jim said smugly.

"We call it, the Super Blaster!" Tim exclaimed with a smile.

"I went in to get the boys," Lady Possible added, "and they brought out this little invention of theirs."

Upon hearing all this, Zita knelt where she stood, so that she was at eye level with the twins. She smiled sweetly. "Well, thank you, you just saved my life."

Jim and Tim shrugged in response. "It was no big!" they said again. Zita gave them a bewildered expression as she stood back up, and then looked to Mrs. Possible questioningly.

The prestigious woman just shrugged. "I have no idea where they came up with that."

"Right then," the maid said, brushing off the conversation quickly. She still needed to complete her given orders. Zita took a few carefully steps back down the hallway.

"We must go, before were get ourselves killed in this attack!" she exclaimed, hoping that they would just listen to her and go, unlike what Kimberly had done.

"What about Dad?" asked Tim, he and his brother wearing the same concerned face.

"Mr. Possible left for the fort a few hours ago, I imagine he is safe there," Zita stated reassuringly before turning around, ready to leave.

"And what about Kimberly?" Mrs. Possible's words were cool and calm, but still made Zita's heart skip a beat.

Kimberly. Somehow she'd wished that they wouldn't ask about her. For she was still upstairs, fighting for her very life using nothing but a bed warmer and sheer wit, against two bumbling pirates. She believed in her friend's skill, and knew she'd pull through somehow. But to tell Kimberly's mother that she was putting herself in such danger...

Zita faced Mrs. Possible with a soft smile. "Kimberly's headed for the fort, I told her we'd meet up there." The lie was heavy on her tongue, but she forced her guilt away for now.

You could see right away that Mrs. Possible was skeptical, but like Zita, she pushed the feeling aside and regained her confidence. "Let's go then,"

As the small group dodged their way through crowds of pirates and general destruction, making their way to the front door, Zita couldn't help but think that her little white lie would cost her best friend very dearly.

The adrenalin rush was more then welcomed as Kimberly raced back down the stairs with little on her mind except escaping. She looked down into the parlor, no sign of Zita. That _hopefully_ meant that she had gotten her family and left. But it could also mean that she was dead, or worse.

Kimberly gulped at the horrid thought, trying to keep herself on track as the bottom of the stairway inched closer.

A sudden calamity of noise sounded from above her. She looked back up, and to her chagrin, found both of her pirate 'friends' bumbling down after her, annoying and singed expressions on their faces.

She sighed exasperatedly. It seemed that her little detraction had not been enough to slow these two down. _I_'_ll have to come up with something else, _she thought as she reached the final step with haste, not noticing that the wooden eyed man was taking a shortcut by leaping over the banister, in hopes of cutting her off.

Kimberly stopped short and gasped in surprise as Lucre suddenly fell from the sky and landed flat on his face, right at her feet.

Behind her, and finally caught up, Drakken covered his face with his hands and sighed, obviously embarrassed by Lucre's shortcomings.

The one-eyed pirate stood up suddenly, dizzied and from what Kimberly could tell, in pain.

"I'm okay!" he muttered rigidly, trying to regain his senses.

Drakken shook his head in disbelief, then looked back at his redheaded target and grinned evilly. "Now where were we?"

Kimberly looked up at her blue pursuer with a twinge of fear glinting in her eyes, she tried to turn around and run, only to find herself face to face with Lucre again, who made an attempt at a vicious growl, holding his hands up like claws to scare her. She backed away as much as she could. _Trapped, like a rat_, she thought as she looked back and forth from the two; there was no way to escape them.

As Kimberly began trying to calculate the probability of escape, a moment's detraction was given as the front door was opened and another of the pirate crew members entered. He was muscular with long blonde hair and dark eyes, and in his arms, he carried a large amount of gold and jewels, pilfered treasures from around the neighborhood probably, she recognized some of the finery, as it belonged to several of her friends. _How pathetic, _Kimberly thought with a scowl.

And then, another _boom _resonated from outside, and the faint whistling sound edged closer to the house then any before it. The redhead immediately knew what was coming next.

All four suddenly looked to the back of the room as a cannonball crashed through the wall. It zipped across the room at frightening speeds, splintering one of the house's wooden pillars before it slammed into the chest of the blonde pirate and spent him flying through the closed doors, rocking them off their hinges and shaking the entire building. The expensive brass parlor chandelier rattled in its spot, then quickly came loose from the ceiling, making a snapping noise that caused the remaining three people look up with shock as the beautiful decoration fell to the ground.

That's when Kimberly saw her chance. Drakken and Lucre were distracted, and she could easily get away now.

Pushing past her two pursuers, the aristocrat ran across the room, giving them little time to catch up with her as they suddenly remember their original mission. She dove under the chandelier's path right before it crashed into the polished floor, glass shattering and metal twisting upon impact.

Drakken and Lucre leaped over the broken light fixture and took off after Kimberly again, but she had the upper hand this time, and quickly took off into the dining room. Upon entry, she locked the door, then grabbed a nearby candelabra and jammed it over the handle for good measure. _That should hold them, for now, _Kimberly thought warily as she heard them begin to beat upon the door again. They would get through soon, so she had to work quickly.

There had to be something she could fight with in here, _anything_! A knife, a fork, she'd even settle for a large serving platter! In her frantic search, her eyes suddenly fell on the court of arms that her father had set above the dining room fireplace.

"That'll work too." Kimberly muttered with a smile, racing over to the display of crossed swords as she heard her makeshift blockade rattle under pressure as Drakken and Lucre made short work of the door.

Reaching as high as she could, the redhead grabbed one of the swords by the hilt, hoping to draw it like you would from a sheath, but when she tried to yak it out, it only resulted in her pulling down the whole court of arms onto the floor. Her eyes widened and she desperately shook the display, trying to loosen the sword.

"No!" she said, inwardly cursing.

The familiar noise of doors being forced open suddenly entered her ears and she looked up with sudden fear, her breath growing rigid. She was out of time!

It was seconds later that Drakken and his partner finally pushed their way into the dining room, growling with annoyance as they held swords at the ready.

Both were shocked to find no Kimberly.

Drakken groaned, now extremely irritated. This game had gone far enough! He was tired of running around this house and just wanted to get back on the ship, whether they caught this girl or not.

Lucre's voice pulled him out of his train of thought.

"Look there!" called his partner, pointing to the far side of the room, where an open window sat. Of course, she just had to go through there! Drakken narrowed his eyes as Lucre quickly took off toward it, in hopes of catching their target.

And then the pulse. That horrible, torturous pulse. It entered the blue pirate's mind like a wave, and he forced himself not to react to the pain. It was here; he knew it was here, and close. He had felt it from the moment they'd entered this manor, when he had first spotted the girl.

_No, it couldn't be,_ he thought. But he knew in his cold heart that it was.

Drakken walked over to his friend and grabbed him by the shoulder. Lucre looked back in surprise to find his partner just giving him a determined nod. Drakken then turned around with a devious smile.

"We know you're here, poppet," he called, his voice echoing across the vast room. Lucre made a confused face, before leaning in on Drakken.

"What's a poppet?" he whispered. The blue pirate gave a surprised look, then rolled his eyes and whispered back with annoyance.

"It's like a girl."

"Ohhhh, okay, gotcha!" Lucre muttered, giving a thumbs-up before pulling away.

"Yeah! Come out, and we promise we won't hurt you," continued the one-eyed pirate, unconvincingly or overzealously speaking. He looked back at Drakken with an excited smile, only to be met with a tired and dull expression.

"What?" he asked.

"Please just let me do the talking." Drakken said dryly.

Kimberly watched the almost humorous scene unfold from a small crack between the pantry doors, dull light illuminating a side of her face and shining across one of her olive eyes as she forced herself not to breath as heavy as she'd like. The scene would've been funny, had her life not been in danger.

"We will find you, poppet," she heard the blue pirate say. _As if, _she thought, rolling her eyes for effect.

"You have something of ours," he continued darkly, "and it calls to us."

And despite her notion that these two were not much of threat, she felt a shiver run down her spine. There was something very ominous in his words.

Suddenly there was another sharp strike of pain in her chest, the strongest of all of them. She bit her lip hard and forced herself to keep from collapsing. Kimberly breathed heavy for a second and placed a hand on the spot where it was worst, where it almost felt as though her flesh was on fire. Her hand fell on the cold metal of her medallion by contrast.

"The gold calls to us,"

The whisper of the pirate coursed through her brain like a snake twisting through the grass, and she rubbed the medallion between her smooth fingers, tracing the skull shape with her index nail.

Kimberly carefully lifted the coin away from her chest and looked at it carefully in the light, the words echoing in her mind as she finally pieced together a long sought puzzle in her life.

These unexplainable sharp pains that had gone on all day, her strange case of amnesia at the dock, this horrible weather, the mysterious appearance of these pirates; somehow... it was all connected to Ron's pirate medallion, she just knew it.

_This is impossible, _Kimberly thought, eyes widened with realization.

Suddenly, the shine that came off the coin was darkened as a shadow was cast upon her hand, and it grew, stretching across the entire line of light and blocking it out. The young redhead felt the faint glow leave her face and she looked up.

Her heart skipped a beat as she locked eyes with Drakken, who was staring at her through the crack in the pantry door, a nasty grin on his face.

"Hello, poppet," he said, and the doors were flung open quickly.

Kimberly stumbled backwards, bracing against the wall as Drakken and Lucre entered, raising their pistols and cutlasses at her. She was seriously cornered now, with no chances of escape. There had to be something though, there was always something!

That was when Kimberly remembered exactly what she needed. And made a mental note to thank her father for buying her all those pirate books as a child once all this was finished.

"Parlay!" she called more frantically then she'd planned. But it had the effect she wanted, Lucre and Drakken suddenly stopped, each wearing the same shocked and bewildered expression.

"What?" Drakken croaked quickly, disbelief lingered in his tone.

"Parlay," Kimberly repeated, her breathing was quick, but there was newfound confidence in her voice. "I invoke the right of parlay. According to the Code of The Brethren set down by the pirates Morgan and Bartholomew, you have to take me to your captain!" she finished smugly.

Drakken gave her a look of annoyance. "I know the code!" he shouted at the aristocrat.

She glanced at him passively, smirking. "If an adversary demands parlay, you can do them no harm until the parlay is complete."

"That's not fair!" Lucre exclaimed suddenly, pointing his sword at Kimberly's nose. His blue partner grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back roughly.

"She wants to be taken to the captain!" Drakken said, shouting in Lucre's ear, almost scolding him really. Then he looked back to Kimberly; there was slyness in his eyes that she really didn't like. He smiled greasily.

"Then she'll go without any trouble." he said. "We must honor the code."

Kimberly ignored the urge to gulp, and nodded in agreement. She really had to wonder if the parlay was such a good idea. Sure, she was safe from these two, but had she just thrown herself out of the frying pan, and into the fire?

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Ron was having his own pirate problems to deal with. He fought valiantly alongside his neighbors, but it seemed like you just couldn't defeat these guys, no matter how hard you tried.

Ron blocked another large, particularly hairy pirate with his sword and axe, the man held a nasty looking grapple hook in each hand and growled at the boy viciously before letting him pull away. The pirate lifted one of the hooks to attack, but Ron swiftly slashed at the grapple's chain, attempting to knock it from his hand. It didn't work, and the pirate threw him backwards.

Dazed, Ron didn't have time to fight back before he found a grapple hook going around his neck and he was pulled face to face with his opponent. The pirate snatched the axe from Ron's hand and grinned evilly, the blacksmith's eyes widened.

"Say goodbye!" he exclaimed with wickedness.

Another cannonball suddenly flew above them, crashing into the shop sign the two stood under. It creaked from impact before swinging down like a pendulum.

Ron saw the incoming danger and screamed, ducking out of the pirate's grasp. His opponent went to attack again, but was stopped short as the front of the sign sent him flying into the shop window, glass shattering upon impact.

The young blacksmith stood up, sighing in relief as he looked on at the broken window.

"Er, goodbye," he muttered.

Ron stepped back into the streets, still ravaged with people fighting, or running away. But they seemed to be making more progress in winning the battle then earlier, they actually had a chance at winning.

The sight of more pirates entering the area suddenly distracted him; they seemed to be coming from the direction of Possible Manor, with various treasures mounted in their arms as they ran through the battlefield. _They're leaving, that's good, _thought Ron, _but isn't that Governor Possible's stuff?_

But after a moment of observing what the pirates had stolen, Ron suddenly realized that gold wasn't the only thing these men had taken.

Leading the group were two strange looking men, one with blue skin, the other with a wooden eye, and in between them was a familiar young redheaded girl was being pulling along by her wrist. Feeling she was being watched, she suddenly locked eyes with the blacksmith.

"Ron!" she called, only to be escorted farther away.

"Kimberly!" he shouted back, quickly weaving through the crowd in an attempt to keep up with them. He wouldn't let the pirates take her, not now, not ever!

Suddenly, a surprisingly familiar face blocked his way.

It was short pirate with the kilt, the one who had been chasing Mrs. Porter, the one... he'd thought he killed.

The formerly deceased man gave Ron a wave hello, and the blacksmith's face turn perplexed. _No way, _he thought, but before he could piece together how this man had survived an axe to the back, he heard a strange fizzling sound below him.

Ron looked down at his feet to find a miniature bomb set between them, lit and ready to blow.

But before he even had time to panic, the fuse reached its end. And that was it. No explosions, no nothing. Something must've not connected between the fuse and the gunpowder inside the bomb.

The Scottish man gave a look of shock and anger, while his former target just breathed another sigh of relief and smiled. That made it two times tonight that Ron had avoided near death.

"Well, that was sure lucky!" said Ron as he reached for his sword again. Maybe fighting this guy a second time would make him go away.

Unfortunately, our young friend failed to notice another of the pirate's renegade friends coming up behind him with a armful of loot, including one very large vase.

"Out of my way, scum!" called the pirate, brandishing the vase wildly as he attempted to push past Ron. But instead of just passing him like a normal man would, the pirate simply bashed the bottom of his expensive decoration over Ron's head, laughing as he raced passed the poor boy.

Without a moment to process what had happened, Ronald crumpled to the ground, blacking out in an instant.

Jack had been in the process explaining to his fellow prison mates exactly how he planned to escape and that they could accompany him if they were capable of doing as he told, when the constant beating the cannonballs were putting against the jail was finally too much for the already crumbling walls to take, and with a final blast, the stone gave way. Jack made seen it coming and ducked down in his cell, not wanting to be crushed.

But as cruel fate would have it, only one cell was opened by the destruction. The one _next to his_, where the very people he had been planning with for the last hour were housed! It was sad and ironic, but then, that phrase pretty much described Jack Sparrow's whole life.

He watched pathetically from the bar grating that separated the cells as his supposed comrades cleared out with haste, off to join the fun outside, no doubt.

The salt-and-pepper haired man, whose name was Chester, gave Jack an apologetic look, the cockroach was still on his shoulder, it seemed to have taken to him.

"My sympathies, friend," Chester said with the usual lisp, "you've no manner of luck at all."

And without another word, he was gone.

Jack moved from the grating to a small crater-like hole in his cell wall, the only dent the cannonball had left, and watched the criminals as they stumbled down the rocky path below the prison and zipped off into town under the light of the full moon, they could easily escape with all the commotion out there.

_No matter though, _thought Jack as he moved away from the depressing sight. He wasn't going to let something like this deter him. _Just gotta come up with a new plan, is all._

But in his desperation, he could only think of one thing to do.

Jack moved to the corner of the cell, where a signal femur bone sat. _I can't believe I'm going to do this, _he thought as he grabbed the bone in one hand, then went to the cell door and held the object through the bars, just enough so certain prison poodle could see.

He whistled and called as pleasingly as he could. "Come on, doggie! It's just you and me now, just you and ol' Jack. Come on!"

The small dog, seemingly interested by the man and his treat, began sneaking from under a nearby table, slowly making his way toward Jack.

"That's a good boy, come on! Good boy! Come on!" he continued to call, starting to grow impatient. Couldn't this accursed mutt go any faster?

The poodle edged ever closed, keys jingling as they hung from his maw. Jack shook the bone with more speed, as if to make the creature move closer, quicker.

And soon, the dog was within a foot of his cell, and Jack could nearly reach the keys.

"That's it! Bit closer, bit closer! Such a good doggie!" he said excitedly, almost ready to drop the bone and snatch his freedom. "Come on, come on! Come on you filthy, slimy, mangy cur!"

The prison's creaky front door sounded suddenly, and the little dog took off, running down the stairs that led to a lower level. Jack waved his hand frantically, although he knew there was no stopping him.

"No, no, no, no! I didn't mean it! I didn't!" he called after the creature, but quickly gave up. He leaned against the barred door and sighed. _So much for that, _he thought dryly.

The prominent sound of clashing swords and all around calamity snapped Jack's attention to the front of the hold, where the noise was coming from. A soldier's body suddenly rolled down the steps that led into the upper level, several ugly stab wounds in his chest, and Sparrow watched warily as two people stormed down behind the fallen man, swords drawn.

The first was a tall man, with spiked out black hair and a long face, his skin was tanned from years at sea, his eyes were dark and rings ran around them, and his clothes were well worn, but still darkly colored, with a puffy red shirt and black pants. Unlike most pirates seen that night, this man wore a pair of green gloves; they looked as though they'd been stolen off someone rich.

The second was seemingly younger, or looked that way. He was much thinner built then his comrade, and while he was muscular, there was something almost feminine about his shape. The man was paler skinned, with deep emerald eyes and kohl drawn around them, and finally long black hair, which was tied into a braid with a piece of green string.

He wore a green and black bandana over his head and clothes that matched, but unlike his comrade, his clothes looked like a mismatched patch quilt. The shirt and pants were made up of pieces and parts of other fabric, with lots of greens and browns and tans, they made up a strange pattern on the outfit.

Jack's eyes widened as he saw the two, for unfortunately, he knew them!

"This isn't the armory!" shouted the first; his British accent was prominent as he stamped his feet angrily.

And that was when he noticed Jack. He gave off an expression that was pure, undeterred shock, then he smirked at the jailed pirate.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here, Hego." he said slimily, nudging his comrade in the ribs. The younger man looked over to Jack, but didn't smile, just kept the same, overly surprised expression as they approached the cell door. Jack moved over to face them with a sneer.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," continued the British man teasingly, folding his hands behind his back, "the last time I saw you, you were all alone, on a God-forsaken island, shrinking into the distance."

He took a moment to laugh nastily. "His fortunes haven't improved much, eh?" He looked to Hego, who simply nodded and smirked slightly, though still seemed quite shaken by Jack's appearance.

Jack grinned at them in his usual sharp, dark way. "Worry about your own fortunes, gentlemen. The deepest circle of Hell is reserved for betrayers and mutineers," he glanced at Hego. "And this goes for both men, and women."

The comment snapped the young man from his shock, and he growled at Jack before lunging at hand at him, grabbing the pirate by the neck and forcing him back.

But that wasn't the most shocking part, for as the moonlight bathed his arm in its white glow, the entire appendage changed form. Instead of the pale skinned fleshy hand, Jack saw nothing but bones. Everything from his elbow down was suddenly... skeletal.

"So there is a curse," Sparrow swallowed harshly as he felt the fingers bones run across his jugular vein, "That's interesting."

Hego waited a moment more, glaring at him with hatred, before releasing his grip on Jack, roughly, like he wanted to break his neck. His hand returned to a normal form.

"You know nothing of Hell," he muttered with sheer darkness, and mild regret. His voice had a slightly higher pitch then that of the other man.

The British pirate gestured to Hego. They still hadn't found what they were looking for, the armory, and they'd really have to leave soon.

With a last sneer at Jack, the two quickly ran out of the prison hold hastily, leaving the former captain to gather his thoughts.

Jack watched warily as they left, then looked down at the bone that was still in his hand with deep contemplation, bouncing it in his palm.

"That's _very_ interesting." he muttered to himself, holding the femur up in the moonlight.

The crying winged maiden with a sparrow in her outstretched hand. That was the first thing Kimberly noticed about the pirate ship as she watched it grow closer from her spot on the rowboat.

The beautiful teary-eyed woman was set across the front of the haul, her wooden form was rotting, chipped and worn, like everything else about this particular ship. It looked ghastly, like an omen of death, but she had very little light to see the whole thing, the full moon kept fading in and out from behind thick clouds.

But this was familiar, she had seen this before, she could feel it.

As the boat pulled up to the side of the ship, several men threw down ropes and hooks to Drakken and Lucre, who grabbed them up and quickly secured the hooks onto the wooden sides. Kimberly was quiet as they were hoisted into the air, carefully listening to the chaotic noise coming from the ship.

Her plan was simple; converse with the captain and bargain with him to leave Port Middleton. If he had the same accursed sixth sense as his crew, he would probably do anything to get his hands on the pirate medallion. She touched the metal necklace with mild bitterness, getting rid of it was probably best, though she felt as though she would miss her treasure. Suddenly, she had a bit of daja vu, like she'd explored this train of thought before.

"Come on!" Drakken's harsh demand snapped Kimberly back to attention, they had become level with the ship.

_Game time, _she thought as she followed her two escorts onto the black pirate vessel.

Stepping onto the dark and stained boarding, Kimberly took in for the first time, what a pirate crew truly looks like. To describe the scene best, it would be appropriate to say that it looked like the attack on Port Middleton put to a much smaller scale. The men were bunched together like ants, running rampade and shouting insanely. The whole scene was a little discomforting in the young aristocrat, and dwindled her belief that their captain could be a seemingly sane man.

As she looked around, she suddenly noticed a shadowy figure standing at the helm of the ship, dressed in a long coat and feathered hat, a small animal... a monkey, she realized, was sitting on his shoulder. _Could that be him?_

Kimberly wasn't given time to check, Drakken grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away suddenly, trying to get her out of the over packed crowd that was quickly forming around them, crew members taking interesting in the female newcomer.

As her two escorts tried their best to push through the growing and under bathed gathering, another of the crew blocked their path. The tan, black haired one with gloves, just returned after an unfruitful search for the armory, his young companion was nowhere to be seen.

"I didn't know we were taking on captives." he said in his thick accent, eyeing Drakken and Lucre warily, as if he was shocked to see them with the young woman.

The blue skinned pirate caught the look and gave him a sneer. "She's invoked the right of parlay with the captain, Monty."

Monty smirked and rubbed his chin. "Not really considered a captive then," the comment seemed rather condescending.

Kimberly, finally tired of being the center of debate and not saying a word in her favor, pulling herself from Drakken's grip and stomped her way over to Monty like the aristocrat she really was, her tone filled with confidence.

"I'm here to negotiate-" was all she got to say of the well prepared speech she'd been planning since she had been dragged from her home, before Monty removed one of his gloves and slapped her across the face with the back of his hand.

"You will speak when spoken to," he ordered roughly.

Kimberly reeled back, snapping her head forward and holding a burning cheek as she gave the pirate a look of pure shock and disgust. _How dare he!_ It was then that she noticed the unusual patches of hair on his hands, almost like... fur.

And just as the young woman was prepared to rip into her rude attacker, a mysterious hand grabbed Monty's raised arm warningly. Kimberly quickly traced the arm back to the very man she had seen at the helm.

He looked very different up close; his face was wrinkled and aged, though he himself looked quite young. His hair was down to his shoulders and gray-black, with a shorter beard and mustache to match. His clothes were weather-beaten and worn, and on his shoulder, the small monkey still sat.

But his eyes... his eyes were the most frightening thing about him, they were grey, like his hair, but around the iris, where white usually was, there was a yellow coloring, like an illness had overtaken them. Kimberly had trouble drawing herself away from those eyes.

"And ye shall not lay a hand on those under the protection of parlay," his voice was cracked and aged, but not without a certain charisma.

Monty removed his furry hands from the man's grasp and softly sneered, "of course, captain," he muttered with contempt, and quickly pulled back.

_So this is the captain,_ Kimberly thought as he stared at her with unwavering eyes.

"Apologies, miss," said the man, giving a swift bow to her.

Kimberly was rather surprised by his manners. "Er... thank you, Captain..."

"Barbossa," he stated with proud introduction. "Captain Hector Barbossa, at your service, miss."

At least he wasn't as barbaric as his crew, perhaps she could actually do business with this man, but she'd have to be careful. She had learned from Jack Sparrow that you never trust a pirate entirely, no matter how charming they were.

Taking a deep breath, she approached the pirate captain with all the strength and pride she could muster.

"Captain Barbossa," she started, "I can here to negotiate the cessation of hostilities against Port Middleton."

Barbossa gave an amused smirk. "There are a lot of long words in there, miss, we're naught but humble pirates." He seemed to be laughing, but then he straightened his expression again, like it had never happened. "What is it that you want?"

Kimberly's face toughened up. "I want you to leave and never come back."

This time, the whole crew snickered. She ignored them best she could, and focused her attention on their captain, her intense green eyes burning holes into him.

But like Jack, Barbossa was unfazed, and in a much scarier way then Sparrow. He chuckled as he bounced her intense glower off with his own eyes.

"I'm disinclined to acquiesce your request," he said with a fervent smirk.

Kimberly gave a blink expression, too shocked by the answer to actually speak.

Barbossa took the opportunity to put salt on the wound. "Means 'no',"

The redheaded girl made a sour expression and forced back a thousand things she'd had loved to say to the pirate. Mostly, she wanted to snap, "I know what it means," but ignored the impulse when she remembered her bargaining chip. Kimberly smirked as she pulled the medallion off her neck.

"Very well then," she muttered, holding the treasure up for Barbossa to see, then she turned around and stormed through the crowd, noticing Drakken and Lucre trying to come up with some way to stop her, but truthfully paid them no mind as the crowd followed nervously.

She reached the edge of the ship quickly, and without a second thought or care, held the medallion over the side, grasping the chain ever so lightly as the mystical coin dangled over the dark waters. More daja vu hit the young girl.

"I'll drop it," she boldly stated, facing the crew with a mood of full control. She felt their nerves grow unsettled as they watched the medallion like a cat stalking a mouse. _This just might work, _she thought

The captain looked particularly shocked, but covered it with smooth words and  
phrasing.

"Me holds are burstin' with swag," he said, referring to his overfilled treasure hold, for those who don't speak pirate. "That bit of shine matters to us, why?"

Kimberly gave him a discerning look and saw right through his lies, there was the same fear there that his crew was facing. He was a good liar, but couldn't escape his greed, like any of these men couldn't.

"It's what you've been searching for," she said knowingly, remembering the blue pirate's words. "I've seen this ship, I recognize it from... ten years ago in the crossing from England."

And that's when it hit her completely. This was ship with black sails, the one that had destroyed that Indiaman, the one Ron had been on, and he had owned the medallion at the time. It all made sense now! Ron wasn't a pirate, but pirates were hunting him, and they wanted this medallion for its strange mystical properties... whatever those were.

"Do ya now?" Barbossa's sarcastic words snapped the girl back into reality. He was still refusing to talk with her seriously, time to resort to drastic measures. She smirked again.

"Fine," she sated carelessly, "then I suppose if it's worthless, then there's no point in me keeping it." And with that, she loosened the chain from her grasp very slightly and let it drop some. That was all she needed to do.

A chorus of 'no!' and grunts of protest came from the crowd as they all moved a step closer to the young woman, even Captain Barbossa was unable to stop himself.

Kimberly gave a mock look of surprise, but let it melt into the most arrogant smirk. Yep, she had them right where she wanted them.

Once the crew realized that they had been tricked into revealing their obsession, they all slowly began backing away, except for Barbossa, who strode over to the clever girl and chuckled menacingly again. The approach left Kimberly with an uncomfortable feeling, and she did her best to retain a strong look as she wound the medallion's chain around her hand and lifted the coin into her palm.

"You have a name, missy?" he asked with a whisper on his voice.

She took in a breath before speaking. "Kimberly..." she stopped before she could word her last name. They didn't seem know who she was, they didn't know she was the governor's daughter. Might be best to keep it that way. "...Stoppable. I'm a maid in the governor's household."

Barbossa suddenly eyed her with a different light, like he was sizing up someone he hadn't seen in years. The wild scrutinization just left Kimberly was sudden nervous feeling. He turned back to the crew with a mysterious smile.

"Miss Stoppable," he repeated to them, and the crew began gasping and laughing and talking amongst themselves, all wide-eyed and a little overly happy.

"Bootstrap," Kimberly heard Drakken say to his friend, and gave a confused look, unsure what to make of the phrase.

The pirate captain turned back to the redhead, still smiling. "And how does a maid come to own a trinket like that? Family heirloom, perhaps?"

The tone in his voice told Kimberly what he was playing at, and she clutched the medallion defensively, her eyes narrowed. "I didn't steal it, if that's what you mean," which was a lie in its own right, because she had.

But Barbossa seemed convinced nonetheless, and he opened his hand gently. "Very well. You hand it over, and we'll put your town to our rudder, and ne'er return." In other words, if she gave them the medallion, they would leave forever.

And for the first time, Kimberly wasn't so sure about this. After all, it wasn't even her medallion to trade, but it was really all they wanted, and they would never hurt her, or Ron, or anyone else she cared about ever again. Her remorse suddenly returned to Bates, who lay dead in her house, along with who knows how many others. No, she had to do this, for the future of Port Middleton and her family. The medallion wouldn't be missed by anyone but her, and it was a small price to pay for losing every burden that had come with it.

_Nothing lost, everything gained, _she thought, moving her tight fist above Barbossa's hand, and relinquishing her grip on the medallion.

It fell into his palm and he closed his fingers around it, rubbing the metal as Kimberly had done before, and she watched with disgust. _Greedy blackheart, got what he deserved, _she kept in mind that he got to handle whatever witchcraft was on that stupid necklace.

After a moment of examining the gold, Barbossa raised his arm and handed the medallion over to the monkey on his shoulder, whom Kimberly had barely noticed during the discussion. The simian took the gold in its little paws, then jumped onto a nearby rope and began making a steady climb to the crow's nest.

Kimberly looked down at the captain again. "A bargain?"

But Barbossa paid her no mind; he watched the monkey for minute, and then turned around, storming across the deck and barking orders to the crew.

"Still the guns and stow 'em! Signal the men, set the flags, and make good to clear port!"

The crowd of pirates quickly dispersed and started off to their jobs, making ready to leave. The redhead was baffled, and took off after the captain.

"Wait! You have to take me to shore!" Kimberly shouted, watching Barbossa as he continued to ignore her. She decided to take the knowledgeable approach again. "According to the Code of the Order of the Brethren-"

That was when the captain finally turned around, facing the girl with a look that said he was sick of her shenanigans. Kimberly stopped when she noticed this.

"First," he began with returned arrogance, getting right in her face, "your return to shore was not part of our negotiations nor our agreement, so I must do nothin'. And secondly, you must be a pirate for the pirate's code to apply, and you're not. And thirdly, the code is more what you'd call "guidelines" than actual rules."

For once, Kimberly had nothing to add to this, because he was right, and she had been tricked! He had used her very plans against her! She balled her fists in anger as Barbossa uttered those final words…

"Welcome aboard the _Black Pearl, _Miss Stoppable!"

As the captain took off again, the alleged Miss Stoppable was about to protest, and destroy Barbossa for all he was worth, when she felt a familiar two pairs of hands grab each of her arms and drag her away as she kicked and screamed, but after some time, gave up the fight.

She looked between Drakken and Lucre as they escorted her to the lower part of the ship and sighed. _Yep, into the fire._


	5. Chapter 5

_I'm dead._

That was Ron Stoppable's first initial thought as he finally aroused, groggy and in pain as the throb inside his head beat in time with his heart, like a pounding drum attempting to kill him with every strike. Despite his efforts, Ron kept his eyes shut, trying to filter out the soreness.

And if that was the truth, if he really was dead, then he had certainly not landed himself in Heaven. There was the feeling of terrible heat on his face, the ground was dirt and ash beneath his fingers, the sounds around him were bustled and hardly welcoming, and the rotten smell of death loomed in the air. This was not at all how the priests had described the afterlife.

He feared looking, because just the idea of meeting eyes with some demon, or even the Devil himself, was too much for Ron to bear. Death had terrified him in general, and he wasn't even sure how he died!

_What was I doing anyway? _He seemed to have earned himself a good case of amnesia from whatever had caused his death. That could explain the headache. Or did this happen to everyone after their death? Did they all just forget everything about their recent lives? Probably made the aftermath a lot easier, no one to miss, no one to worry about while you're gone...

There was suddenly a strange sensation on his face; something moist and rather fuzzy ran across his cheek. The sudden feeling of a short breath froze Ron in an instant. Hellhounds, he kept thinking with paralyzed fear, they'd probably come to eat his soul!

As he braced for his ultimate fate, there was another strange sensation that faced him, and it was above his head this time. There was a pulling and gnawing at the tips of his hair. As if his headache wasn't bad enough, now this thing was just gonna make it worse!

_Wait a minute, _he suddenly thought in a break between the fear, _dogs don't chew like that. _Then was then that he realized that the creature (whatever it may be) had breath that stunk of regurgitated grass, like a cow's.

And as if timed by the Gods themselves, there was a loud baaing in Ron's ear. Hardly melodic, but defiantly not the sound of a hellhound.

At once, Ron opened his eyes.

He was beautifully greeted by the bright light of a yellow sun set at high noon and a sea of milky blue skies, both framed by the familiar rooftops of his neighbors and passing faces of busied people, running past him quickly as they set about for their destinations. Home! He was home, in Port Royal! No death, no hellhounds!

He could've cried with joy, had tears not already come streaming from his eyes due to the gustily smell of the creature that was 'attacking' him, which quickly turned from chewing at his hair (realizing it was not hay), and looked Ron dead in the eyes.

Bleating again, the small horned goat gave the young blacksmith the full extent of his breath before walking off in search of a more edible source. Ron forced back the urge to throw up as he began to gather his thoughts.

Okay, he was on the ground in the middle of town with a massive headache, and a goat. He was pretty sure he'd had nothing to drink the night before, but something had happened that had ended him up here. He hoped he hadn't worried anybody in his absence, or done anything he might have regretted in his better mind.

But try as Ron might, he couldn't seem to will a single memory of the events of yesterday.

"'Eh buddy! You okay? You've been layin' there all night!" the unfamiliar voice coaxed Ron to sit up and locate the source of the almost concerned words.

His range of vision fell on a gangly old sailor sitting on a barrel not but three feet away with a flagon of rum in his hand, his gray hair twisted like brambles, his clothes weather beaten and tattered, and his face dark red with sun burn. It took Ron a moment to recognize a few stray cuts across his cheeks and chest, the matching tears in his shirt were stained with blood.

Ron rubbed his head again, massaging the spot where it hurt most. There was a prominent and sore lump where his fingers touched and he winced in pain. The old sailor hoarsely laughed at the sight.

"I imagine that smarts. Great blighter conked you right on the noggin', he did. Bloody unfair fight too, seein' as you had your back turned, mate."

Even without the peppering of slang, Ron had no idea what the man was talking about. But from what he made out, he had been attacked and knocked out from the back by somebody. Maybe it was best to ask for more information.

"Yeah, hey, um… you didn't happen to see what happened last night, because I don't have a clue," the blacksmith asked awkwardly as he propped himself up on one knee and began standing.

The sailor seemed shocked, but quickly smiled again. For the first time, Ron noticed he was missing most of his teeth. "Forgot a little, did ya? Well, here's a recap. Pirates tried to ransack the town, we all teamed up to try and stop 'em, you got whacked on the head, and we scared those nasty thieves outta town!" He let out a celebratory holler at this and took a long swig from his flagon.

Ron couldn't help but smile as his memories returned. That was right, there was pirate invasion, and he had helped fend them off… well, until he was put out cold. At least the town wasn't destroyed, and those men were gone, probably for good! It almost made him want to take a long drink of rum himself.

"Yep, the day was ours," continued the sailor in a more slurred speech pattern as he finally lowered the flagon. "Too bad we lost a couple men in the battle."

"Oh man, I'm sorry to hear that," Ron said with a look of sympathy in his eyes.

The sailor waved passively, still smiling. The drink was obviously getting at him. "Oh, it's no biggie! I mean, not as bad as the Governor's loss anyway!" He was almost to the point of laughter, but now Ron was concerned. That was his best friend's father he was talking about!

"What happened with Governor Possible?"

The sailor hiccupped several times before answering. "Not the Governor, his _daughter_!" Another hiccup and he smiled. "They're sayin' she got taken by the pirates." His last word was gargled as he drowned himself in another swig of rum, but Ron heard everything with perfect clarity as the last of his memories flooded back.

"She was taken by…" he muttered, every inch of his body shaking suddenly. He looked to the skies with fear.

"Kimberly!"

* * *

As a great man would say, years from now, in a very young and war-raging America, "there are no sure things in life except for death and taxes." This statement holds a valued truth, but is also incomplete. It should say, "There are no sure things in life except for death, taxes, and irony."

At least, that's how Kimberly Possible would've said it as she slumped in a gold decorated, purple velvet throne, her skirts draped over the arm of the chair and her eyes heavy as she drifted in and out of sleep. She hadn't rested, but her nerves and distrust of this ship had kept her awake for the most part.

She looked awful, her red hair was massively tangled, and her nightdress was dirty from the journey here. Here, locked inside the treasure hold of the _Black Pearl, _with all her family heirlooms and neighbors' various items, tricked by her own good will into being held prisoner by the manic Captain Barbossa and his equally insane crew, forced to face a no doubt gruesome fate.

What would they do with her? Force her to become a servant on the ship? Sell her into slavery? Use her as ransom to barter Port Royal from her father? Or would they just kill her as soon as they could?

Her worries, and nap, was suddenly interrupted by the room's double doors opening. Her eyes shot open and she swung to her feet, forcing the sleep from her expression and trading it for a far more serious look. _Defenselessness doesn't count for anything on a pirate ship, _she thought.

From behind the opened door, a young man slipped into the room. She hadn't seen this member of the chew thus far. He was tall, with black hair that was held in a tight braid, and paled skin, an odd trait to find on a pirate, as most were tan from their days at sea. His clothes were mismatched and patched up with scrapes of brown, black, and green fabric.

But when he turned around, something threw Kimberly off, even more than his skin tone. And she wasn't sure what, or why, but something wasn't right about him. He didn't look like an actual… man to her, much less a seafaring pirate. Crewmembers of any ship were often muscular and large, but this one… he was as thin and bony as she was. That made little sense; a boy of his age should be much bigger, especially considering his choice of profession.

"Alright," said the young man, and even his voice didn't sound right to Kimberly, even with the mild British accent he seemed to have, "do you want this breakfast, or have women started starving themselves in Port Royal now?"

It was only then that the young redhead noticed the plate of food held in his hands. There was a fresh apple, a few slices of bread, and what Kimberly could only assume was some sort of oatmeal.

She also noted that she had not eaten since the night before, and that already felt like a long time ago. His snide comment had put her temper, and hunger, on thin ice, but she hardly trusted these men yet, much less trusted that nasty food they were trying to feed her.

She crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her chin with arrogance. "No thank you, I'm not hungry."

Just then, her stomach gave a profound grumble. The young pirate smirked at her, causing Kimberly to bite her lip tightly.

He laughed maliciously. "Typical aristocratic behavior, you're really all the same!"

"No we're not!" Kimberly snapped. "I just refuse to eat such- wait…" she stopped. All of his words had just sunk in. "What did you just call me?"

He smirked again, placing the plate on a nearby table. "You heard me. I saw you last night, and no actual housemaid," he made air quotes with his fingers as he spoke the word 'housemaid', "would seriously act that democratic and pompous, much less a child of Bootstrap Stoppable, which I don't think you are!"

Kimberly's mind buzzed with this new information. Bootstrap, the name she had heard the night before. But now with a full name, and if that was the case, then he must've been… no, she wasn't to reach any conclusions until she knew for sure.

She put her hands on her hips and scoffed. "I'm sorry to say that you're mistaken, my dear sir. I may have a certain refining to my attitude, but I am by no means an aristocrat."

The young pirate glared at her, obviously unconvinced. He twisted his mouth around and narrowed his eyes at her, as if trying to pry into her mind and find the truth.

Again, something made Kimberly question the actual masculinity of this boy. Perhaps something in his green eyes looked far too… femanine to her, and it was buried deep, hidden beneath the years and bitterness, but it was there, whatever it was.

His snide laugh broke the young woman's wonderings suddenly; she shook off her curious expression and broke into a cold glare. He snickered again.

"Well, suit yourself, keep up this charade. But a fair warning; whoever you're covering for is hardly worth the trouble you've gotten yourself into, girl," he spoke with coldness, but honesty, and that sent chills down Kimberly's spine.

She tried to ignore the feeling, and continued her arrogant attitude. "What do you know? You're a pirate." A stupid thing to say, she knew that, but it was her best cover.

A now familiar smirk appeared on the young man's face as he opened the doors again, turning to her one last time. "And that very statement is why I don't think you're related to Bootstrap in the slightest."

Kimberly's eyes widened, now noting what her words had just given away.

"Well, until next time, princess." And with that awful smile on his face, he slipped through the doors, locking them as he left Kimberly in worried silence.

* * *

It was very quiet in the Commodore's lavish office, and that made things very unusual and awkward for everyone who had joined Barkin in there to help with plans.

Especially for Governor James Possible, the poor man who was suffering from lack of sleep, as well as horrid worry. After a frightening night of hiding in this very room, he had returned home by the light of dawn, only to find his house in shambles, and the residents, family and servant alike, missing.

In a race of panic back to the battered fort, he ran into what remained of his staff, and thankfully his wife and two sons. They had all run for cover in light of the attack… and then he asked about Kimberly.

Anne, with tears in her eyes, explained that she was supposed to be right behind them, but never showed up when they reached safety. And then she told him about what several townspeople had seen…

And he knew she spoke the truth, his beloved daughter, Kimberly Anne Possible, had been taken by pirates.

Barkin had taken the news with calm and quick action, telling everyone to go to his office and begin finding a solution, but James could tell he was just as worried, if not more. His own wife-to-be, kidnapped on the night of his proposal. The Governor was not sure he could fathom what fear was going on in Barkin's mind, but if it was anything like what he was feeling, it had to be truly sickening.

The commodore sat at his desk in silence, scanning over a large, yellowed map of the world with his icy eyes as though it was a crystal ball that could tell him Kimberly exact location.

And no one spoke, not Barkin, not James, not the two soldiers, Thomas and John, who guarded the entrance. It was sheer, uncomfortable silence.

That was, until a familiar blonde burst through the double, mahogany doors, frantic and covered in dirt. He didn't stop until he ran, gut-first, into Barkin's desk. Everyone reeled back in shock, Steven most of all, who jumped back in surprise, standing from his chair.

"Stoppable!" he shouted. "What the Devil are you doing here?"

Ron braced himself against the desk, attempting to catch his breath, as he had run all the way here. Once he had regained some energy, he began explaining himself.

"The pirates… bombs… gold… and Kimberly!" His words were choppy between his heavy breathing, but the group understood where things were going.

"They took her," he said more clearly, "we have to do something!"

Barkin remained steadfast in controlling his emotions. "And we shall, Mister Stoppable! But first we must find these treacherous seadogs…"

"And how long will that take?" Ron interrupted, suddenly sounding more angry than frantic. "By the time you locate the ship, they could be halfway across the Caribbean Sea, and Kimberly could be-"

"Not another word, Ronald!" it was James' turn to interrupt, coming out of his sadden quietness. He approached Ron with toughness in his voice. "We _will_ find my daughter and she _will_ come home safe. Anything is possible!"

"But just standing here won't get us anywhere!" the blacksmith snapped back.

"And I'm not going anywhere until I know what I'm up against, Mister Stoppable!" Barkin continued, seating himself again.

"The _Black Pearl_."

The words came unexpected and from a previously unheard voice, forcing the three men to stop arguing and look toward the source of the strange words.

Caught in the gaze of the group, John gave his brother, Thomas, a glare, and the elder of two nervously grinned back. He knew he should've just kept his mouth shut, but Lady Kimberly's life was in danger, and she was always so nice…

Thomas coughed awkwardly before continuing. "I heard it from the escaped prisoners while we rounded them up, sir. They said it was the famous _Black Pearl _that attacked us last night!"

As he finished his explanation, he could see the fear striking through the eyes of the commodore and governor, and the confusion hitting the young blacksmith.

"So, let's go after them!" Ron stated simply.

Barkin looked as though he wanted to smack him. "You don't just go after the _Pearl, _Stoppable. Now more than ever, we must plan an attack. Going in without one would be suicide!" He suddenly became quiet again, studying the map and tracing the Caribbean Isles with his index finger.

"If only we knew more about her and what her patterns were…" he mumbled, more to himself than anything.

But nevertheless, Thomas again had the answer to the commodore's every wondering.

"I'll bet Jack Sparrow could tell you," he stated, almost confidently. "He seemed to know something about the ship! Talked about it to us!"

"Mentioned it, actually," John suddenly added with thought.

Normally, a soldier ranked at the same level as John and Thomas would have been slapped for talking to a commanding officer without being spoken to, but this information proved to be the exception, at least to Ron it was. He turned back to Barkin with a hopeful smile.

"Talk to him, maybe he knows more than he's saying!" As much as Ron despised Sparrow, he cared more about Kimberly's safety at the moment. And if the pirate could help…

But Barkin didn't seem as enthusiastic about the idea. "If Sparrow really was in league with the pirates of the _Black Pearl_, they would've freed him during the attack," he spoke plainly, as if talking over a cup of tea. "He is still in his cell, ergo, he is not an ally of theirs."

"But-" Ron began, trying to argue the point as best he could, even though he knew he couldn't.

"Enough, Stoppable!" the commodore held up his hand, forcing him to stop. "Now, if you are quite finished, the Governor and I have some important planning to do, one that doesn't involve irrational behavior and stupid decisions!"

Barkin's words cut like a blade, but they spoke the truth. Ron knew in his heart that he could not just go after a pirate ship with no plan, but what then? Every moment he spent arguing with these two was another of Kimberly's time gone, time that could be running out. Although these men had great intentions, they wouldn't be getting very far very fast at this rate.

There was only one option here as Ron could see it, and by far, it was the worst option. But is it meant helping get Kimberly back…

The blacksmith took one final huff, and then strode tightly out of Barkin's office, a determined look in his eye. The commanding men, Steve and James, took one last, sad look at the boy before switching to matters at hand.

As Ron made his way back out onto the fort, his thoughts raced. For the most part, he now had a plan, but he wasn't sure how bright it was, or even if it would actually help. But he trusted the words of the Bell brothers, John and Thomas, and if they were right, then there was only one person in town who could possibly help.

As much as Ron hated to say it, he had to go speak with Jack Sparrow himself.

It was nearly an hour after Ron's departure that James and Steven were able to settle their thoughts and begin forming their plan of action. Both felt rather sorry for the young man, knowing what agony he must be facing, as he had been Kimberly's acting best friend for nearly a decade, and obviously cared, much farther than either would care to speculate (especially Barkin). But if they were facing the _Black Pearl_, then they would not be taking any chances on stupid plans that entrusted the fate of their beloved young woman to the likes of Jack Sparrow, a man who had not but a day ago, taken her hostage to save his own life.

No, far too risky. To ask for Sparrow's help was to pour salt on a wound, and both were far too proud to do so.

Barkin traced a sextant over his desk map and moved it across the Caribbean Isles, like a pair of miniature metal legs trekking across the broad sea and small patches of land that dotted the paper. The young man's eyes remained focused on Port Royal and surrounding islands, trying his best to envision which direction the ship would've most likely gone.

_If I were I pirate, _he thought, and Josh did not put himself in a pirate's shoes very often,_ and I had just attacked and nearly defeated the most prided island of England's colonies, where would I go?_

And it seemed that the Commodore could indeed think like a pirate, or so he thought, because only one place came to mind.

He swerved the sextant on its side as it reached the shores, where the clusters of islands began and the Caribbean Sea momentarily ended, then used it to stab down on a single slice of land, the sharp leg poking through the fragile paper.

"There! That is where we shall start our search!" Barkin exclaimed suddenly, still holding the device down as he stood from his chair. James, upon hearing the young man's revelation, moved from his spot on the far wall and joined the Commodore to look at the map.

Steve, an expression of hope returning to his face, quickly pulled the sextant free from the map, leaving a small puncture in the name of the island he had come to, but having only stabbed the center of the "O" in the word, it was still readable.

Governor Possible gazed at the island for a long time before looking up, locking eyes with Barkin.

"Tortuga?" The question seemed fairly obvious, but James couldn't help but feel that this choice of island was a little obvious anyway.

Nevertheless, Josh nodded, clearly too hopeful to think otherwise. "Aye, Tortuga. I have never met a pirate who resisted the drunken sin of that town, and chances are, that is where we will find our feared 'Hell-born' captain and his demonic crew."

He took a moment to cast a glance at Hector and Martin. Whether he was thankful for the information they had provided, or scolding for passing along those old fish stories about the _Pearl_ to the other soldiers (he had heard them, rest assured, he had), neither could tell, and the commanding officer would never reveal the true nature.

But James seemed skeptical. Tortuga was not far from here, perhaps a fort-night's journey by ship, and perhaps the most obvious hiding place for any pirate. The East India Trading Company, partnered with the Royal Navy, had been quietly smothering the threat of piracy from within the town, and it was quickly becoming one of the worst places for a buccaneer to take refuge. There were hired spies and disguised soldiers lurking around the filth-infested streets and houses, poised to arrest and even kill any pirate wanted by their superior others.

Surely the captain of the famous _Black Pearl_ would be smarter than to throw himself into such a bad mix. In fact, something kept telling James that he was, and that Tortuga was the overall wrong place to go. Perhaps the Governor would've brought this up too, had he a better plan. But sadly, he didn't. He could not think of another island that would make more sense, even if this one made _too much_ sense.

Still, with little to go on, did he have a choice?

After looking down at the pirate town for another block of time, James again glanced up to Barkin and nodded in unsure agreement.

"Very well, then," he stated with false confidence, "we set sail for Tortuga by nightfall."

"And I will accompany you."

The voice broke through, and did not belong to either of the men, nor did it belong to the two young soldiers.

All four turned to the doors, once again opened, this had somehow gone unnoticed in all the debate. They looked into the hallway, and first, John and Thomas's mouths fell open in shock, then James and Steve were quick to repeat the motion as a slender figure walked softly into the room, her hands folded in front of her.

She smiled at their reaction, but only faced the governor. "Yes, James," said Anne Possible confidently, "I will be joining you this time, like it or not."

Zita hadn't argued when Lady Possible dismissed her from all duties for the day, in fact, she had been almost pleased. Exhaustion from a haunting, sleepless night was slowly beginning to take her over, tending to things and helping with the repairs in the mansion would be too much for her wary body to take.

Besides, she couldn't bear watching the Possibles weep over their missing daughter, not when she knew she could've done something to stop it.

She leaned over the side of the now battered fort, set against one of few walls that had survived the attack. She stood at the very place where her mistress… her _friend_, had stood a day ago, trying to catch her breath. Now Zita struggled with hers as she looked out over the ocean, the water so calm, starkly contrasting the events and outlook left from the night before.

The memories flashed into her mind so often now, it made her sick…

_At the sound of the door handle being forced open by the attacking pirates, Zita let out a scream, but Kimberly was quick to calm her._

"_Okay, Zita, here's what I need you to do. Hide, I'll distract these two, and the first chance you get, run, find my family, and all of you head for the fort!"_

"_But you-!"_

"_I'll be fine," Kimberly said, but this left the maid in no reassured state. _

_Zita was about to protest again when she heard the lock begin to break. Kimberly was taking off toward her bedroom once more before the other girl knew what was happening. _

"_Just follow my lead!" she yelled._

_And Zita had done as told._

…

"_And what about Kimberly?" Mrs. Possible asked. _

"_Kimberly's headed for the fort, I told her we'd meet up there." Zita lied, forcing a smile on her face._

…

_It's my fault, _she thought coldly as the memories faded again, only to surface back and replay. Tears beginning to form in her dark eyes. _I had the chance to stop her, and I didn't. I let her go, and now she's gone._ _I led my only friend to her death. _

She broke into a horrendous sob, hiding her shamed face behind her hands and letting her tears fall through her fingers, into the waiting sea that churned below her.

Now, had Zita been less pain-struck, she might've taken a moment to check on James Jr. and Timothy, better known as Jim and Tim. While Mrs. Possible had gone off to discuss a serious matter to James, she had left the twins in Zita's charge, trusting them not to get into any mischief, though she seriously doubted that they wouldn't.

And as usual, Mrs. Possible was right. For while the young house maid coped with inconceivable guilt, the two boys were quick to sneak off, slipping inside the fort while no one was looking.

"Absolutely not!"

Barkin was the first to catch his breath as he voiced the opinion going through every one of his comrades' minds, facing the honorable Lady Possible with a shocked but stern expression. His head was still buzzing with confusion, but he was pretty sure he had just heard the governor's wife say she wanted to join them on their rescue mission.

Anne remained defiant, eyeing Barkin with an intent look, something she knew he hated.

"And why ever not?"

It was a simple question, but to any man living in the mid 1700's, it was a stupid question as well. Their were many reasons why one didn't bring a woman abroad, most of which involved bad luck and old sailors' witch-craft tales. Barkin didn't believe a word of them… but he had seen too many weird occurrences at sea to not have a slight smidge of doubt.

James shared this concern, as well as others about his wife, so he could not help but voice them before Josh could begin.

"Anne, the sea is just no place for a woman..."

"So you say," she snapped, cutting him off. The coldness in her tone became softer when she saw that he was listening, "but I will not be left behind this time, James. This is my daughter..."

"I understand," Governor Possible said, knowing all too well the feeling that was going through his wife's head. "But if you come, it'll only-"

He stopped abruptly again, caught between his words. Anne had made him pause again, but with a different tactic.

Before the group of men, she wore what was reported as the single-best Puppy Dog Pout in the history of Possible women, with her blue eyes glossy with tears and her lip quivering enough to make even the blackest hearts break.

And of course, it was more than enough to break James'.

Right outside the office, leaning into the open door left by Lady Possible, was a pair of twin boys with light brown hair. Having surpassed all the guards within the fort all too easily, they had quickly located Barkin's new office and taken advantage of the open door to eavesdrop on their parents.

As they watched James Possible fall unwillingly to his wife's plea and beg the Commodore to understand the situation, the boys pulled back and stood next the wooden wall, eyeing each other in a way that Kimberly used to see quite a bit, and knew that they were thinking up a plan.

"Mom's going to join Dad on the ship," said Tim.

"You know what that means, they'll leave us with Zita's family," continued Jim rather sullenly.

There was a moment of silence between the two as they continued to think. It was the twin in red who first raised his head, eyes widening with the appearance of an idea. It didn't take long for his brother, through the magic of their twin mind link, to come with the same idea.

"Unless..." began Jim slyly.

"... We totally stowaway?" Tim stated with a devilish smile.

"Hoosha," Jim said.

The boys shared a freakishly identical grin, and then shook hands in agreement to the plan already forming in their heads.

The blistering, tropical heat of the afternoon had only just begun beating down on the island when Ron had finally found the person he'd been searching for; Gillette. Locating him had not been easy amongst the mass destruction and crowding townspeople, but eventually, he found the young Lieutenant at the docks, helping crewmen make ready to sail the _Interceptor _out in search for Kimberly.

Normally, Ron would never have bothered with the man, but this was a matter of emergency, and Gillette had something that the blacksmith needed; access to the island's prison.

As the two men returned to FortCharles, Ron did his best to focus on the Lieutenant's constant prattle, as opposed to the task at hand.

"…So I said to him, "But, Grooves, there is no ship in the harbor!", and you should've seen the look on his face," Gillette said, then laughed in memory. "Oh, I swear to you, Mister Stoppable, the only time that man isn't drunk is when he's asleep! You know, one of these days the Commodore is sure to kick him out of the Navy all together!"

"You don't say," replied Ron, only half listening as he planned out what _he_ was going to say when he got inside the prison hold.

As he talked, the Lieutenant had led the young man down into the fort, through a series of hallways that wound deeper inside (and thankfully, not passed Barkin's office). Ron had to awe at how well he seemed to know the corridors, without even thinking about it. Certainly impressive, especially considering it was Junior.

At last, after one more flight of stairs and another _riveting _tale of Gillette's adventures on night patrol; they came to a single locked door at the end of an unusually long hallway, and stopped. The Lieutenant looked at Ron with an expression of doubt.

"Are you sure you want to go in there? I mean, all that's left is some rubble and that pirate, Jack Sparrow."

The blacksmith nodded. "That's what I'm counting on. There's something missing from my master's shop and I need to make sure Sparrow didn't stuff into his coat pocket while I wasn't looking." A lie, of course, but how else was he supposed to get in?

Gillette was pretty sure that they had searched Sparrow before locking him away, but he really needed to get back to the harbor before the Commodore discovered his absence. Without another word, he dug the metal key from his pocket and jammed it into the lock on the door. Ron watched with anxiousness as the key was turned and the lock clicked metallically, signaling that his plan had, in fact, worked.

The Lieutenant pushed open the heavy wooden door, then stepped aside, leaving room for the younger man to enter.

"Please close the door when you're finished, and if Sparrow gives you any trouble, there are soldiers throughout the fort who can help…"

"Don't worry," said the blacksmith confidently, "I think I have it under control." He gestured to the gleaming sword strapped to his belt.

As Ron stepped inside the prison hold, he heard Gillette begin walking back to the exit. Perfect, and not a soldier close by; this meant he could speak with his pirate 'friend' without interruption.

A few cells away, Jack Sparrow was still working on the matter of escaping. He had given up on getting the keys, and tricking one of guards into giving them to him. And after several other stunts he'd tried over the course of the morning, he discovered that none of his usual plans seemed to work here, which wasn't good. The more time he spent trying to escape, the less time he had before the Commodore would string him up like a dead chicken.

Quickly running out of ideas, Jack resorted to the oldest trick in the book of escaping prisons; he picked up a rather sharp bone off the floor of his cell, and slipping his hands through the bars, jammed the pointed end into the lock and desperately began trying to pick it.

"Please…" he muttered uncharacteristically, praying under his breath for the first time in what felt like forever.

And that was when he heard the footsteps approaching.

Jack was quick to toss the bone aside, falling back into the cell rather ungracefully.

He lay back on the straw covered floor, waiting to see the likes of the Lieutenant, or those two bumbling soldiers who followed the Commodore everywhere, or even worse; the Commodore himself.

But was relieved, and surprised, when it turned out to be none other than the young blonde haired townsman whom he had dueled with. The boy stopped in front of the cell, gripping the sword strapped to his belt as his eyes flashed with seriousness, By the look of things, Jack could tell this was no friendly visit.

"…Sparrow." Ron said after a moment of silence.

The pirate did not bother sitting up, replying in a tone that mocked the blacksmith's. "…eunuch boy."

Ron's face flushed into a shade of angry red. The second time he'd been called that and he still didn't know what it meant.

But he swallowed whatever retaliation he was brewing in his mind, considering that the matter in hand was far more important than his pride.

He continued in a tone that lacked the usual distaste that came with speaking with Sparrow. "I need your help."

Jack was rather surprised again, but hardly left at a loss for words. He was convinced that everyone, at some point in their lives, would need his help in one way or another.

But that didn't always mean he was willing to give it.

Jack lazily supported his head on his right arm and pretended to examine the blackened fingernails of his left.

"Do you now?" he answered in a half-interested, and very bitter, tone. This boy was the main reason he wasn't lying on a beach on some far-off isle right now.

Ron had pretty much expected this much from the pirate. As relationships go, he and Sparrow weren't on the friendliest of terms, but something had to convince him otherwise. As he Sensei once said, _"Every man has a weakness, and the ones who think themselves above such things are they themselves most prone to it..."_

And as far as he was concerned, Ron knew Jack Sparrow's weakness.

He took in one last breath before continuing, as though he was diving into deep, dark waters. That's how it felt to him too.

"It's about the _Black Pearl_," he stated, his voice nearly cracking and almost giving away his apprehensiveness.

_Now_ Jack was interested. But he didn't dare show it. Instead, he continued vainly looking at his nails, in case the boy was just here to mock him for the stories he'd weaved to the soldiers and prisoners.

"Yeah, what of it?" Jack answered in a bored way.

Still unsure of what he was about to actually do, Ron bit his lip before speaking.

"I... I need to know where it makes port." If he had any knowledge about pirate ships, he knew that they always had somewhere to go back to after raids. A bit of a secret lair, if you will.

Inside his cell, even if the boy couldn't see it, Jack had already put together the pieces in his mind and understood what Ron was planning on doing. He also understood that it was utterly crazy.

_Hmm... maybe I underestimated this one, _the pirate thought with an inward grin.

Jack suddenly sat up, his legs spread out on the ground like a toddler just learning to lift itself.

"Where does it make berth? You haven't heard the stories, have you, lad?"

Ron sheepishly shook his head.

The pirate smiled devilishly and drew in his legs, speaking as though he had spoken this tale a thousand times before.

"Captain Barbossa and his crew of miscreants sail from the dreaded Isla de Muerta. It's an island that cannot be found... except by those who already know where it is."

"That makes no sense!" Ron shouted suddenly, only just forgetting that this meeting must be kept secret.

The words meant almost nothing to the blacksmith, other than the fact that "Isla de Muerta" was Latin for 'island of death' (he had Kimberly's superior language skills to thank for that), it sounded like nothing short of senseless gibberish from a part of a sailor's drunken song.

He quickly lowered his voice as he continued. "I didn't come here to listen to old wives' tales, Sparrow. Where did it go?"

Jack heard the desperation in his voice. This boy wasn't just after Barbossa for ransacking the town. There was something personal about this little vendetta of his... but what?

"And why ask me?" the pirate questioned, ignoring the question as he lounged back in his cell once more.

The young blacksmith was suddenly at a loss for words. He wasn't sure why he was doing what he was doing, why he was taking such a terrible risk. To put his hands in the fate of a pirate who could (and had tried to) kill him so very easily.

He hated Sparrow... but, he _loved _Kimberly. With every fiber of his heart and soul, he loved her, and he'd join Davy Jones' accursed crew before he saw her die at the hands of anyone.

But Ron would never admit that to the likes of Jack; he could barely admit it to himself.

So instead, he went with the backup answer.

"Well, you're a pirate, and..."

_Liar, _thought Sparrow. He had to get the truth out of this boy somehow, and making him mad seemed to be effective...

"And you want to turn pirate yourself?" Jack mockingly asked, admiring his fingertips again.

This seemed to set the blacksmith off.

"Wha- No!" he shouted again, eyeing his companion with annoyance. Become a pirate, of all the appalling...

And then Ron saw the look Sparrow was giving him. It basically said, "Well, what then? We're losing daylight and I don't have much longer to live."

He sighed heavily, grabbing hold of the cell bars and pulling himself closer so only Jack could hear him.

"They... they've taken Miss Possible."

There, he had said it. And Jack wasn't surprised by this statement either. _Always about a woman..._ he thought with a roll of his eyes. He was pretty sure he knew who this Possible girl was; the pretty redhead he'd met with yesterday…

And then suddenly, he couldn't help but get that feeling again. That he had seen this boy somewhere else... a long time ago.

He shook the weird vibe for a moment and finally replied to Ron's admission.

"Well, lad," Jack stated, "If you're intending to brave all, hasten her rescue and win fair lady's heart... "The last words struck a cord inside Ron quite suddenly.

"You'll have to do it alone, mate. I see no profit in it for me," he finished speaking with a rather greasy smile.

But none of this seemed to dishearten the young hero-to-be.

"I can get you out," he answered plainly.

Jack scoffed. "How so? The keys are with ol' Bingo-Was-His-Name-O." At this, he gestured to the far side of the room, where a doggie door had been set inside the wall. No doubt, that was where his snarky poodle friend had slunk off to since last night.

But still, Ron never missed a beat. This was exactly what he'd planned in his head.

"I helped design these cells with my master, and I know for a fact that there are certain weak spots," he said in a rather know-it-all tone, rare to hear from the mouth of Stoppable. "With the proper leverage and a little bit of strength, they come right off!"

_Now why didn't I think of that, _wondered Jack, but then, that familiarity sparked again. The resourcefulness... the surprising amount of brains...

And this time, it clicked in his head... but that was impossible. He was far too young to be... but Jack had to know.

The blacksmith saw the pirate thinking, hard, about something. Whether he was attempting to understand what had just been said to him, or something else, Ron couldn't be sure.

"What's your name?" Sparrow asked suddenly

The question caught the younger man off guard. It seemed odd, after all this talking, to simply ask someone's name. But he would not question the man who could very well lead him to his best friend.

He smiled. "Ron; Ron Stoppable."

Jack got quiet again, longer this time. Who knew a name could be such an important thing to a pirate?

At last, his voice cracked through the silence. "Well, Mr. Stoppable," he started almost jovially, lifting himself back off the floor and standing. "I've changed me mind. If you spring me from this cell, I swear, on pain of death, that I shall take you to the _Black Pearl_ and your bonny lass."

Ron grinned ear to ear. "Great!"

Jack nodded in agreement, though it seemed that he had something else on his mind. The pirate was quick to shake the boy's hand, sealing the deal.

"Yes, great. Now, get me out," he said dryly. In truth he was still thinking on his new ally's name, and a new plan... a _fantastic_ plan, was already beginning to form inside his head.


End file.
